She said revolution could come from birdsong in the morning. She said revolution could be done through propaganda. She said revolution, more often than not, came from pulling a single metal pin and setting the world on fire for an evening. “Imagine the Earth,” she’d say in that far off voice, as if she were imagining it herself. “Now think about flames licking their way up from the southern hemisphere. Forget how much heat it would actually take to set the South Pole on fire and just picture it burning the world like an old map. Fire brings death, death brings life, and hopefully we get it right the next time around.”

The neon above the café patio washed her face first in pink, then flashed in blue. It was hard to tell what she was thinking as her smile seemed to change with the colors and sipped her espresso quietly. I made fun of her for the pinky she always extended when drinking. “An old habit from my earlier years,” was the excuse, as if protesters and firebugs had no place growing up in the upper echelons of society.

“I felt dirty there. I still do, on occasion,” she explained one time, early on in our relationship. Business partnership really, if you wanted to break it down now. “I got used to the money just always being there, being around me. After awhile, even the trees smelled like greed and I had to go. That was when I realized I wanted to do something more than consume for selfish reasons. I want to conceive for selfless reasons now.”

I could feel the coffee thickening against my teeth and immediately wished for a toothbrush. “So what’s in this for you?” I asked quietly.

She set her cup down on the saucer, the clink reminding me of change falling into a jar onto piles of copper. “I get publicity, you get the insurance. My people will believe they’re making a difference and you get a second chance. It’s a win-win for everyone as long as there’s no one inside when we make our move.” She stared at me, waiting for my eyes to give her the go ahead.

“Will you need my assistance if anything goes awry?”

She shook her head and grinned. “We’ve gotten pretty good at making our own exits. Plus, we don’t want there to be any ties linking us together. A clean break makes for fewer crevices to explore,” she said getting up and grabbing her satchel. “You remember how to leave me the message?” she asked.

I nodded as a camera click-click-clicked from the building across the street. My own quiet insurance plan in case anything happened. I am a businessman after all.

“Well, until then, I suppose,” she sighed. “Bye, Dad.”

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