“Still trying to save my soul?” I’d answer.
“Too late for that, Theo.”
Then she’d smile and walk away, and my whole miserable day of crawling through basements and rewiring busted panels would feel less heavy.
That night, she didn’t smile.
She slid into the seat across from me during the dinner rush, which she never did. Her manager was yelling at a dishwasher in the back. Rain hit the front windows. Outside, yellow cabs hissed through puddles on the Brooklyn street.
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