"Gods, what I wouldn't give..." Abe Morgan said, looking out the window of his antiques shop.

Henry Morgan walked over to his adopted son. "Wouldn't give to what?"

"That. Over there." Abe pointed to a boy on a skateboard not too far from the shop.

"Ha, you'd break your hip, Abraham!" It made sense. Abraham Morgan was 70 years old, and not in the best shape of his life. Henry might be able to do it, but as a 200-year-old immortal, he had no interest in skateboarding.

Abe turned around. "I wouldn't be so sure. I was extremely dexterous in my youth. And I may be old, but unlike some people, I like exercise."

"Perhaps we have a different recollection of those days. Remember when you first got your own bicycle?"

Flashback: Abe's seventh birthday party, 1951

"Oh my gosh, Jimmy, an antique creepy doll from 1910? That's awesome!"

"Yeah, it was in my attic, so I gave it to you," Jimmy answered dryly.

"So all these presents... this doll, the lanyard, the lampshade... you had in your attics, and you decided to give them to me? You guys are the best friends ever!" Abe loved vintage items so much that he couldn't tell that they were using him as a dump site for their unwanted items. Realizing this, Henry got Abe something that he believed no child would put in an attic. He walked into the room with in a shiny new bicycle.

"That's new." Abe said disappointedly. "It might sell in a few years, but..."

"Just try it, Abe! It's not something to sell, it's something you can actually use!"

"Alright, but just this once." He walked out. In a few hours, he came back with a bloody nose and a few missing teeth. "Well, I tried it. And now I'm putting it in my attic."

"Well, we all evolve over time. At least most of us do. Please tell me you're not slaving away in that dungeon of yours. Come on, it's the weekend!"

"I was in my laboratory studying. I've made an incredible discovery about my condition."

"Did you discover that sleep deprivation is bad for you?"

"No. I might have just found a way... to die." Henry motioned for Abe to follow him to his basement.

"Youth is wasted on the immortal..." Abe muttered before going down the stairs.

"So I've been gathering data on my awakenings."

"On your what?"

"When I emerge from the water. I'm uncomfortable with the term rebirth."

"Strange that's the part that makes you uncomfortable. But okay."

"When charting my exact reappearances using eyewitness accounts and the occasional police report, and comparing them with my likely times of death, well..."

"Well, what?"

"Sometimes I stay dead longer. Only by a few seconds, but still, it's something. I think it may have to do with the method of death, maybe visceral damage versus nerve damage... where are you going, this is fascinating!"

"No, it's depressing! Let me ask you a question. Let's say that one of these experiments of yours actually works. Would you really do it? Do you want to be gone that badly?"

"Well, no, no... that's not what I'm saying. I want to grow old. To experience the cycle of life, have grey hair, become a curmudgeon like you..."

"Well, yeah, glaucoma and sciatica are both awesome."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and with rheumatoid arthritis, you can predict the weather. I got that from the Farmer's Almanac. It's a well-established journal written by and for octogenarians like me."

"Well, I'll have to read some of their articles then. I do have to keep up on the scientific discoveries of these days, you know."

"And prune juice is delicious."

"Okay, I get it it now. You're being sarcastic."

"Yes, I am. Henry, just because you can't grow old doesn't mean you can't evolve."

"Well, what would you have me do?"

"If I had your condition? Everything."

Meanwhile in the Chinatown neighborhood of New York City...

It was a cloudless night. The sweat-inducing smell of a fiery, authentic Szechuan hot pot filled the air. On one side of the street, a grocer sold his wares. On the other, a businessman strolled along the alleyway holding a grape smoothie. It wasn't clear why he was carrying a grape smoothie when he could just as easily have gotten a cup of medicinal tea, or a loquat bubble tea, or anything but a grape smoothie. Let's face it, grape smoothies are disgusting. He bumped into someone, spilling the abomination of a beverage all over his suit. While he was distracted, a mugger ran up and snatched his briefcase.

"Hey, what... hey, that's my briefcase! Someone help!"

It didn't seem that he needed any help, though. The man immediately ran to the next car, jumped on top of it, and tackled the mugger. He then started beating the mugger with his fists. After the third punch, he stopped and began shaking. Blood poured out his nose, and he fell over, dead. The mugger got up, took the briefcase, and hobbled away.

There is a whole litany of things we can do to keep death at bay. We can exercise, eat well, put on sunscreen... and though you might try to bargain with death, spare no delusions. It will find you. So if you spend all your time hiding from death, or in my case, searching for it... I guess the question is, were you ever really alive?

"Morning, doc, how was your weekend? Wistful stroll through Central Park, maybe? Doctor Who marathon? Maybe some scarf shopping?"

"I worked."

"Overtime, huh?"

"I worked in my underground torture sex dungeon."

"Yeah, I worked at mine too."

Henry looked at him with a horrified expression on his face. Lucas didn't notice. "The name of the deceased is Bill Sayle, 67 years old. Paramedics picked him up in Chinatown, possibly killed by a mugger."

Henry took a glance at the corpse. "Judging by the state of his knuckles, Mr. Sayle fought back. Fracture on the ring finger indicates he must have worn a wedding ring, but not for the last year. I don't see a tan line. Also there's some sort of soot on his fingers. Subtle grey flannel with a soft shoulder. It must have been worn at least 30 years ago, but it's been re-tailored recently. The stain on his shirt is a grape smoothie, I believe. Now, let's take a look at what's going on underneath the suit."

Henry removed the suit the deceased was wearing, making a mental note to save it for Abe when the case was over. After all, Abe loved his vintage items.

"Whoa! He's ripped!" Lucas said, looking at the abdomen of the corpse. "He's 67, but he looks like me... after my morning crunches..."

"What could have done this to his body?"

"One thing's for sure. You never can tell how old someone is just by looking at them."