I am awoken by the plaintive sounds of talking guts—whining, gurgling, babbling. It is early morning, but it is pitch dark still. It must be around four, I reckon. I start listening, but I cannot tell whether it is the sound of my own or my beloved’s guts. As of late, hers have become rather talkative. At long last I decide it is her guts, for I cannot feel any movement in my own. Only then I realize that she will be joining me by the early afternoon at the earliest.