Wrong coast for Aglaia, I say? I'm sure I did.
That morning's taste.
The rest of them. The contract. The months.
The arms and the lights and the bells became lost in the prospect and I stepped from the curb and brakes trilled.
"Want a lift? You need one, pal."
That was Dave.
At my apartment, I made some coffee and later we went back together to the address in Beverly Hills—because he didn't know it, and he was a lonely guy, too.
In fact he still is.
The most brokenhearted guy in the world.