He stopped to talk as I was peeling an orange. “Isn’t it interesting,” I said “that oranges nearly always have nine segments.” “I never noticed,” he said, smiling. He had a nice smile.
The next time our paths crossed I was leaving the party just as he was arriving. He smiled at me. “Oh, are you going? I was hoping to talk with you.” But I couldn’t stay.
And then he shot himself.
And now, it seems, all the oranges have ten segments.