I’m too old for you, she says. He disagrees and takes her hand. She tells him her age and he sinks in his chair. You weren’t lying, he says.

The birds mock them from the sky. He resents the effortlessness of their locomotion. She lights a cigarette. I’m bad with stress, he thinks.

He hops up to her. Let’s make out, he says. She slaps him. How old are you? she asks. Old enough, he says touching his cheek. Then he cries.

I bought a used banjo. It was beat up and ugly. Since when do you play the banjo? my wife asked. And I said, I don’t know who I am anymore.

I asked her out. You have small feet, she replies. And I look at my feet. My mother always tells me I can do better, she says. With a knife.