If my wife’s hometown had been smaller, she would never have met a man like me. If it had been bigger, I would have fled from her.
I called it a souvenir, because a “bruise” was something that hurt. This didn’t. As it faded to green, I counted the days until he’d return.
“So, what’s the worse lie you ever told?” he asked his wife. “I love you,” she honestly replied “but I really hate these silly truth games.”
“How would you know?” she asked. I took her to the cemetery. The headstone was weathered. Beloved husband. Beloved wife. She took my hand.
“I want this perfect moment to last forever,” she’d said. But after a century together in the time bubble, he was beginning to annoy her.
They recommend tonight’s special, duck confit in raspberry reduction, with the 2006 Franciscan Cabernet Sauvignon. We order pizza and beer.