He knew it.

What he had to do. The only thing left to him under the present circumstances.

He would have to shrink his lover. There was nothing else for it. And then he would put her in a matchbox.

Yes. And he would carry her around with him like that. In his old leather bag.

Then they would always be together. Night or day. Wherever he was.

But there was a downside to his plan. Of course.

He did not smoke. He never had. So his wife was bound to ask why he carried a matchbox

everywhere with him. Night or day.

To want to know what was inside it.

There was only one solution to this. He would simply have to start smoking. There was nothing else for it.

Of course he knew that he ran the risk of contracting lung cancer.

But that was a small price to pay for having his lover always there. With him. Close to his hip.