Smoked drifted up form the ashtray that lay on his belly. Sweat kept his leg glued to hers as he stared into the ceiling fan above him; spent. She halfway rolled over and kept trying to find a cool spot in the dank sheets. Marcel picked up his cigarette and took a slow, thoughtful drag. "I don't care that you are leaving," he joked scratching her calf with his toe nail. Music played in the other room where the evening started: half eaten food, plates; the kicked over chair. She reached over and thumbed the old Saint necklace that was his granddad's. "Assisi," she asked?