“Bacon?”
“Generously.”
“Then this was worth leaving the apartment.”
We ate slowly.
A gull landed on the wall and watched us with criminal intent.
Noah tore off a piece of bread.
“Don’t,” I said.
“He’s hungry.”
“He is a thief.”
“So is Marlowe.”
“Marlowe has legal residence.”
Noah ate the bread himself.
The gull looked betrayed.
After lunch, we sat with our shoulders touching.
Noah asked what had changed in the world during the missing years.
I gave him the larger events he had missed and the absurdly small ones he cared about more.
A favorite musician retired and then returned.
The ferry authority replaced the green boats with blue ones.
The old cinema closed.
A storm damaged the north pier.
A local politician was arrested for stealing decorative shrubs from a public garden.
Noah laughed at that until the headache reminded him not to.
He asked which films he had seen, what books he had bought, whether we had ever gone to Canada.
“No.”
“You said we wanted to.”
“We do.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
He looked across the water.
“What else did we plan?”
