Chapter 3

If I had a daisy…He mimed pulling off the petals. It should be so easy to find out if he loves me or is using me. He had a bitter feeling he knew the answer, if he only had the guts to admit it.

He ended up making a sandwich, eating it standing at the kitchen counter. Pouring coffee, he wandered into the living room and flicked on the TV. Nothing caught his attention, so he turned it off, putting one of his jazz discs into the CD player. Going to the window facing the street, he pressed his forehead against the cold glass, staring down at the traffic below, lost in the strains of Ellington’s version of “Mood Indigo”