I tell Musette that I will walk home.

It’s nice out, I say. Really that not cold. We’ll save the money.

What should I do, she asks.

She’d been planning on picking me up at the subway station by our apartment.

I’ll call you when I’m at Bedford, I say.

No.

Okay, Nostrand.

Okay.

I’ve got a big brown paper bag in my hands. It’s got her new little schmiggie in it, and a Fruit punch juice made by Tsunami. Those of you who know will know. The juice costs me seven dollars at the store, even with my discount it’s still more expensive than at the smoke shop near our place, but the convenience makes it worth it.

When we meet up, she takes the bag, and I take the dog.

I’m not even going to look at it until we’re home, she says.

That’s good, I say. I don’t want anything breaking.

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