T-- stopped by tonight with two pints of Ben and Jerry’s.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Did you and A-- break up?”
“Worse,” he told me. “She’s on a diet.”
“Which means you’re on a diet?”
“Come in,” I told him. “The game’s on in the living room.”
I went to the kitchen for spoons and beer. Nothing goes better with ice cream than light beer except maybe for whiskey, but not on a work night. When I entered the living room, T-- was scooping and eating his ice cream like a two-fingered excavator. “Good gracious,” I said, “when was the las...
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