When two people meet, each one is changed by the other so you've got two new people.

Honey?” she asks. “Don’t call me that,” I snap. “What? Honey?” she asks. “Yes,” I snap again. “What do you want me to call you?” she asks, indignantly. “CEO?” She stifles a giggle. “Oh Christ.” “No, really Patrick. What do you want me to call you?” King, I’m thinking.

And she leaned back in the corner, to indulge her murmurs, or to reason them away; probably a little of both—such being the commonest process of a not ill-disposed mind.

He carried his childhood like a hurt warm bird held to his middle-aged breast.

Written By Herbert Gold

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