The whiskey made him sound nervous, almost forgetful of time and place, almost lucidly dreaming through the telephone speaker. I will love you, he said, repeating himself through his slurred syllables. I will love you, you. I will. Love. Love you. I will. I will love. You, love. His breathing heavy. My mouth empty. Will I love. You will love. I will love you will love I will love. Moving closer to the voice beside my ear as the fan beat steadily. You. Steadily.