He answers en route to the kitchen. "Time has been suspended. This is the first Sunday of the new age. The age of coffee and bagels and peignoirs."

"Also sex, if we had an air conditioner."

"Persistence," he rambles. "Mere survival." He returns with their second cups. "I could run a lukewarm shower."

She throws off the covers and stretches lubriciously. "No more talk. The day won't get any cooler. And it is always later than you think."