They had the bedside lamps on

"Helen can bring herself to the point of weeping just thinking about Cal's yellow rain jacket that came to his thighs and the rubber boots he wore back then and the Norwegian sweater with the elbows out of it and how he rolled his own cigarettes for a time, which was unheard of (he had other pretensions: he made his own yogurt and tofu, grew pot, experimented with tie-dye), and how he wanted a house around the bay for summers, and how the children came by accident, every single one of them. Cal was a reader, of course; he read everything he got his hands on. They both read. Helen had a book in her overnight bag and so did Cal, and after they'd had sex and showered and looked through the TV channels and eaten and drunk some more beer, they each got their books, and they had the bedside lamps on. They fell asleep like that. Cal with a book over his chest."-- Lisa Moore, February