Eventually it came to pass that no one ever had to die, unless they ran out of money. Then, unless they were so horrible that society had to dispose of them. Then, unless wanted to or could be talked into it. Then, no one would die so long as they had just one person who loved them.

A Russian, fifty-two-year-old cancer survivor living in New York struggles to come to terms with the fact that his dog—which had been left behind by his ex-girlfriend—might be dying.