Thursday May 12, 2016
He blinked thirty times in a row and seemed not to breathe for a worrisome length of time.
“What’s the matter?”
He gripped his coffee cup so hard that the handle popped off, or at least it did in my imagination.
“I can’t speak to you right now, Sandy,” Paul said, standing up, re-tucking in his golf shirt, clearing his throat. He threw a twenty down on the table. He walked out.
The twenty slowly drifted to the floor like an October leaf.