He stopped to pick up some milk and a few other items to tide him over until the weekend. What with the luggage and the groceries, he had to make two trips up to his condo in the elevator. Man, he thought, I do get tired of schlepping stuff up here all the time. Schlep had been one of Sandy’s words. And again he felt the loneliness.
He’d turned the heat back before he left, and the place felt cold. By the time he had the groceries put away and the soiled clothes in the laundry hamper, it was warmer. He went back downstairs to the mailbox, retrieved its contents, and threw them on the kitchen bar. He opened a bottle of cabernet and poured a glass, which he sipped occasionally as he sorted the mail, most of it catalogs, advertisements, and requests from charities. He had enough return addre
