That’s when he picked me up and took me to Atlantic City. He was okay, Pino was. Sure, he changed his persona as etiquette demands. He was Pinchus Cohen to his new wife and later, his kids. He was a valued pallbearer in his synagogue. And to his girlfriends, he was both generous and either Pino or Pinchus, depending on their needs. To me he was truly faithful till the day he died—from a heart attack says the death report, simple, and that is true, but I was sitting on the night table next to him when into the room comes, like some tipped-off Moses: his wife.
Mostly, I’ve been bounced around, sometimes treated like a trophy or a toy, often like a toothpick. It wasn’t my choosing. Think what you like. Why should I care? In fact, if you hadn’t noticed, this patois is for you.
Howsabout a lo
