Lying in the sun afterward, I asked Muffin what was going to happen next.

"You want to go swimming again?" she said.

"No, I mean after."

"Let’s eat," she said, dragging me back toward the boat.

"You can’t wiggle out of it that easy," I told her. "Are we the only ones left?"

"I think so."

"Are we going to freeze too?"

"Nope. We got a special deal."

"But it seems pretty stupid if you ask me. Everything’s kind of finished, you know? Show’s over. Why are we still hanging around?"

"For a new show, dummy."

"Oh." That made sense. "Same sort of thing?"

"We’ll see."

"Oh. Where do we fit in?"

Muffin smiled at me. "You’re here to keep me company."

"And what are you here for?"

"Everything else. Get me a sandwich."

I reached into the basket and pulled out the sandwich on top. It was inside a plastic sandwich bag. "Didn’t we wrap these in waxed paper?" I asked.

Muffin laughed.

This is my most reprinted story, based on an idea I’d had for years before I finally found the right way to put it together. Believe it or not, the first time I tried to write a story on this premise, it was a sordid tale about a shipwrecked sailor and a dockside whore. I won’t even try to explain how the one story changed into the other — I like Muffin too much to sully her reputation.

Incidentally, this was the first story in which I decided to have fun with the title. Science fiction stories typically have terse no-nonsense titles... and for a long time, I thought titles like that were absolutely necessary if you wanted to be taken seriously as a writer. Finally, of course, I realized what a ridiculous notion that was — not only did many great stories have out-and-out florid titles, but one doesn't always want to be "serious" anyway. Therefore, I chucked out my preconceptions on what titles "must" be and have felt better ever since.