Years later, when you are married to a wealthy corporate figure and have two kids who both are named Wrolf because you particularly like that name, and you belong to a local book club that caters specifically to flash fiction because everyone in your club has busy lives, your happiness and contentment will be interrupted for good when you get a phone call.
"Hello, this is Chadsworth."
A moment of silence passes.
"This is Shit. We had a one night fling ten years ago."
"Shit... how did you get this number?"
"Thats not important. I called to tell you I am HIV positive. You should get yourself checked.
And so you do. And you have AIDS. And you die.
Now:
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
