17
ONE LONELY NIGHT
They leave the luncheonette and stand on the sidewalk, with nothing much to say.
“Frank’s won’t run itself,” Lana says.
He nods.
She squeezes his hand and leaves without another word.
Won’t run itself? Horvath isn’t so sure about that. Those old drunks will keep rolling in, no matter what, the bartender will keep pouring, and the cook will keep churning out the slop. Once you flick the switch, everything keeps going no matter what. Arms and legs moving without a thought. The conversation never changes. The people are androids who don’t need eyes, brains, hearts or old-fashioned human feelings. Just like a science fiction story.
He watches her march down the avenue, hoping she’ll turn around and smile but knowing she won’t. The shops turn and stare as she passes b
