La Fin Des Bohèmes

Mark Cohen’s worst fear came true.

Something that had haunted him for months, even years; a reality that had dawned on him on the walk from the church to Angel’s grave. You could call it a eureka moment.

People would die. No matter how long you tried to put it off, one day you would cease to exist. Death could come at any time, like a thief in the night, to steal your breath from your body.

Somehow, the blind knowledge of his faith that he would see his friends again seemed to have been lost in the bright lights of the New York City dream.

Mark Cohen died alone.

And all that remained of the bohemians were a few blurred memories and a reel of film footage, gathering dust.