We slept together the night before he left. I wasn’t sure it was going to happen until it did. He came over to the East Bay. I took him to dinner at Zachary’s. “Best pizza in the world,” I said. “You’re not going to get anything like this down there.”
“You say the word there like it’s a curse.”
I concentrated on cutting my piece of spinach and mushroom pie. All
around us people laughed, tucked into their own pizzas, sucked on the lollipops
they gave you when you paid the check. Were any of them on their own cusp of loss?
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