“Well, thank you for your pleasant company,” Hannah says.
“Anytime, sugar,” she says. “Come back when he’s hungry, next time.”
We walk single file to the cash register. The man at the cash register is jolly.
“How was everything?”
“Fine. Just fine.”
He makes change. Then he impales the green receipt, and counts the bills and coins into my palm.
“Thank you, and enjoy the day,” he says.
The vinyl on the seats is hot from the sun. When the car moves I lean my head back, and, with eyes closed, the sky is a red expanse. When I open my eyes I expect to find us gone farther, and to see the Chestnut Hill Reservoir to my right. But that’s not the case. Closing my eyes befuddles my brain’s capacity to judge the distance covered by moments elapsed. We make a quick turn onto Short Street.
I sta
