Jasmine. It's like a name you find at a strip club but in essence it's not all that bad.

Jasmine looks at me out of the corner of her eye. "Frankie, you're naked."

"We are all naked aren't we? A bunch of ignorant fawn running around not knowing what to do."

"No Frankie, you are really naked. You have no clothes on."

Semantics really. Why does a person have to have clothes on to converse with another person. Clothes are so overrated!

"Sorry, Jazz, I don't even know how I ended up this way, can you lend me something to cover up?"

Jasmine runs upstairs and grabs some pajamas. Probably from an ex-boyfriend but I don't care. It's not really a good time to be jealous when you show up naked at someone's house at 3 in the morning.

"What's going on with you? Seriously!" Jazzy says, looking at me with that intent glare.

"I was thinking about you?"

I was thinking about her. Right up until the time I died. Yeah, I died. Most people think there is some great afterlife waiting for you, but it's not true. Here I am, 50 years old and in the worst marriage a person could imagine and a bus comes along. Not just any bus, but one driven by Ruport Miles. Ruport was a lousy driver, always has been. He seldom checked where he was going and seldom looked to the rear.

In any case, Ruport made a right turn without looking and I was on the corner. Underneath the bus I went and the pain of death tingled through me.

A second later I was awake.

Sitting outside of Jasmine's house. Naked. Nowhere to go.

I figure it is about 30 years ago I knew Jasmine. But I am here now to make things right. She was the one girl I never stopped thinking about.

She is my lover. She should have been a long time ago.

Oh, the hoped produced by second chances. How many times would we go back to fix a personal mistake, if we could?

SnF. Very easy to read.