The point

"But why Jack?" Bob said while holding his gloved hand on the gleaming blue formica table.
Jack waited while the cute waitress filled their coffe mugs and departed. Swinging her cute little tush under the short skirt. Steam rose from the mugs in heavy caffine scented streams. Muzzeling their faces and creating a delicate mist over his tinted glasses.
A bug fell into his coffe with a cheerful Plunk sound.
Neither of the men commented on that.
Jack lifted the mug to his lips and had a mouthfull of the bitter black liqud. It was scalding hot, but he didn't much care for that.
"Because I'm sick of it." He finally said, in a flat tone.
"Sick of what?" Said Bob. "Of being a human being? Of your job? Of our relationship?"

Something wiggeled under Jack's scarf.
"You're part of it." He said. "And so is the job, and the elections, and the quiet, constant increase in the number of homeless people on the streets. Of children sold for body parts in Eastren Europe. Of the whole stinking christ-sufferng mess of it..."
He stopped speaking after that and took a deep breath. Outside the planes from the recenty re-opened airport flew back and fourth. "Special Rate Flights! See Cairo, Dublin, or Paris for 100$!"
See and possibly be melted by some clever organism sprayed in the lobby. Why not.
"I'm sorry" He said. "It's not you, it's not us. It's me."
A scattering of bugs escaped from his left pants-leg and began eating his chair-leg. The waitress came up to them and said: "Sir I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. Some of our other patrons are a little sensetive and well..." A quick glance around. "I think these sorta things need to be done privatly."
She lingered for a bit and softly said to Jack: "I'm sooo proud of you. I'm doing it too as soon as I finish college." Jack smiled, wished her luck.
They left more money on the table then was needed.
It was a short car ride to the open field where the swarm was waiting. They hugged for the last time. And then Bob watched with watery eyes as Jack's body melted into a hord of tiny winged insects all happily flying into the moonless night. Leaving behind the assorted garments of a heavily dressed short man.

He thought about giving the cloths to charity. But instead burned them then and there. Tying the painful stump.
A moth circled over his head. No doubt attracted to the light and warmth.
Bob didn't have the heart to shoo it away.