Chapter 30

Since my guts are already twisting, the hunger pains aren’t helping in the least. For the first time in years, I take my car to the diner. It’s not a long walk, but the drive will be a thousand times faster.

I startle Ann by saying, “For take-out, please,” and then I have to call her back and ask her to pack it in two halves for me. When I get the packages and dash a block down to the street where Meryl will be waiting, I surprise him enough to give the poor guy the shakes. I guess he doesn’t have a lot of folks running up to him at breakneck speeds. “Fucked up day,” I tell him, drop the sandwich in his lap and hand him the tea and the fruit. “Got to run. Sorry. Talk later.”