Will was sitting on the old yellow couch in his living room, head in hands. He seemed really out of it but he looked up when we came in. Tunny and I stopped dead in our tracks at the look in his eyes. "I need your help," he said.

"Ok," I told him cautiously. "With what?"

"Francine."

"Who the fuck's Francine?" Tunny asked.

I gestured pointedly.

"Oh. Wow." Tunny raised his eyebrows at me and then looked back at Will worriedly. He didn't look so good.

"How long has it been since you've gotten a decent night's sleep?" I sat down next to him

"I don't know. A few weeks. I'm going crazy. So? Will you help me?"

"Sure," I told him. "Whatever you want man."

"You're not gonna like it."

"Lay it on us, man, what do you need?"

"Besides a life," Tunny snickered, flicking him in the back of the head.

Will flipped him the bird irritably then turned back to me. "I need a gallon of gasoline."

"Hold up!" I was horrified. He couldn't be thinking of what I thought he was thinking of. No way! "Maybe you should wait until you sober up, okay?"

"Please. For me. For my sanity," he asked, desperately.

"This is not the answer. I swear, we'll get you some help."

"Help!" He yelled, suddenly furious. "You want to help now? You fucking left, man. You both did!"

"That doesn't mean-"

"Francine was all I had to rely on. The only thing left. Francine was there for me!"

"Which is why-"

"No," he interrupted, "I need to do this. I need to make a clean break. I need to get rid of the memories, of feeling her against my skin, of wanting to nestle in her all goddamn day!" He leaped up and began to trash the room. A lampshade almost hit Tunny in the face and a magazine hit me in the back of the head.

"Jeez. It's worse than I thought." The fear showed on Tunny's face. This was a man who had been to war, but confronted with this, I didn't blame him at all.

"Alright! Will…" Will paid no attention to me, continuing to throw things around the room. "Will calm down. We'll help you. What do you want to do?"

"Johnny, the gasoline. And some candles. Tunny, I need your truck to pick her up."

That night, we hefted the ratty yellow couch into the back of Tunny's truck, took it to an abandoned parking lot, doused it in gasoline, and lit it on fire. Tunny and I were sober as we watched fire devour the couch that we'd had so many good times on.

"How do you feel, Will?"

He stared into the flames. "I feel fucking great," he said sincerely.

The flames of Francine's funeral pyre leapt up into the sky, casting a flickering, orange glow on our faces. Slowly, we each lit a candle in her memory.

Tunny laughed. "I can't believe you named the couch Francine!"