It was mid-afternoon and I was almost done transcribing my interview with the mayor (Supposedly Billy's interview).
My cell rang. Peter. The only man in my life I wasn’t currently avoiding. I answered.
"It's my monthly, 'when are you going to grow up and get a real job' call," he said by way of greeting.
"To which I give my routine 'f**k off' reply," I said.
"Now that's out of the way, how are you?" he asked.
"Same as usual. Well. Not quite as usual. I'm writing an article about the mayor."
"Did he die?"
"Ha-ha."
"Actually, I'd heard you were doing more over there. Congrats."
Was that a glimmer of actual pride?
"Thank you. I didn't know you cared." Or noticed.
"Mom spotted it and pointed it out to me."
Of course she did.
"Are you the contributor on this one too?"
"More or les
