I remember I had gone out to lunch with a bunch of guys from the office. Unofficial group lunches were a rarity, but we were so damn glad to see a warm, sunny day after months of cold and rain, it was a fairly unanimous decision to get out in it. The boss, Frank, liked the idea so much, we closed up shop and all decided to play hooky. Friday afternoon, the phones weren’t ringing, to hell with it, right?

Chinese food, I think. Six of us went not counting Frank. Because we were all going home after eating, we all drove. If you went back to the office afterwards, it might suck you back in. Everyone drove except my friend Stan, who always carpooled with another guy and rode over with him. It was a small parking lot, but we managed to find spaces.

The meal lasted a little over an hour. When we came back to our cars, someone had papered the lot while we were inside. This happens all the time. Some new pyramid scheme or a scheme to make hundreds of dollars stuffing envelopes in the privacy of your own home…that sort of thing.

This one was on orangey-yellow paper, and sure enough, we all got one, along with many other patrons of that strip mall. “Spring Into Savings!” it said. “Yardley Square Apartments and Townhomes…1, 2 and 3 bedroom configurations. Prices starting at $599 and get the second month free!” This last part had an asterisk next to it, to indicate there were stipulations on the free second month. Perhaps you had to sign a twelve month lease. But none of us knew, because our flyers were alike in that none of them had the asterisk’s meaning provided.

“Hurry!” the paper said, and there was an image of a rushing guy below that drove the point home. This cartoony gentleman was moving so fast that one hand was occupied keeping his hat on his head and his tie whipped out behind him as though he were in a wind tunnel.

Frank had reached his car first, a couple of us were standing around him, reading over his shoulder. “No hurry at all,” Frank said in response. “Look at the expiration date. June…but that’s fifteen years from now.”

Bob had already fished out a cigarette and was puffing away at it. “Hang onto that,” he said. “Wait ten years then go demand those prices. When they balk, sue for false advertising.” That was Bob’s answer to how to make it rich: litigation. “Swhat they get for not proofing their flyers before going to Kinko’s.”

Ted, one of the other guys, looked to be making some more comments about a flyer, but by that point I was driving away. I had barely glanced at mine, just tossing it into the back seat.

It wasn’t until Monday that Ted saw me and he repeated to me his observation.

“Next week,” he said, as though that explained everything. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Next week what?”

“My deal expires next week,” he said, grinning. He had even kept the flyer. “I guess I better hurry up and go sign up, huh?”

And so the following Thursday Frank called Bob’s home after lunch came and went with no word. Bob’s son answered the phone. He and his wife had come over the moment they had gotten the call about Bob’s accident. He had been killed in a head-on collision with a Cadillac going the wrong way on a one way street. On impact, so at least he didn’t suffer.

Once Frank told us, the same second thought hit us all. The first thought was, of course, sorrow for Bob and his family. And we liked him. He was a bit goofy, but a sweet guy and a great worker. And he loved to share stories. So he had told us all about the flyer. And his expiration date.

We couldn’t be sure that they were one in the same, because all he said was “next week”…not a specific date. And the flyer wasn’t in his office; we certainly weren’t going to pester his now-widow about it.

We did check…and could find no trace of Yardley Square Apartments. No one had thought anything of the fact that no address or phone number was on the flyer. Just the words, the cartoon man, and the date.

We could double check all this, because Ted still had his. “Well,” he said, “we’ll know in eighteen months.”

And we did. Ted–our resident chimney, who had tried and failed to quit more times than we could count–was diagnosed with lung cancer seven months later. And eleven months after that, he lost his battle. And yes, on the date from his flyer.

Things got a bit strange after that. And Frank became obsessed with the idea that he now knew his own dying day. At one point, after drinking too much–which he did more and more often–he decided to tumble over the side of an overpass. He reasoned–rather loudly to his companions, who could not stop him in time–that he was perfectly safe since his date was years away.

He was right. The date was absolutely correct. After the accident, he remained in a coma up until his flyer’s expiration. And he was the only remaining one of us other than me by then.

They kept pestering me about my date, but I told them I had thrown the flyer away that weekend. And that was the truth. I barely even glanced at it. I could have sworn mine had no date at all, but that was a long, long time ago, and I just can’t remember.