Six
Michael left Gerald some good
memories. As he strode away unlookingly, Gerald grinned. It was
always fun with Mikey. He saluted, but his friend was already slamming
the door.
He drove home and walked in the
door humming. As he tossed the papier-mâché pot roast onto the hula-girl
striped tablecloth, a cracked oleander bloom fell out. “Good
times,” Gerald murmured, bending over to examine it. “Good times.”
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