And Did You Get What You Wanted

A Little Autobiography And A Lot Of Imagination Are Best.

My Heart Is Broken,” She Goes. “it’s Turned To A Piece Of Stone. I’m No Good. That’s What’s As Bad As Anything, That I’m No Good Anymore.

But He Stays By The Window, Remembering That Life. They Had Laughed. They Had Leaned On Each Other And Laughed Until The Tears Had Come, While Everything Else—the Cold And Where He'd Go In It—was Outside, For A While Anyway.

It's Strange. You Never Start Out Life With The Intention Of Becoming A Bankrupt Or An Alcoholic Or A Cheat And A Thief. Or A Liar.

She Serves Me A Piece Of It A Few Minutes Out Of The Oven. A Little Steam Rises From The Slits On Top. Sugar And Spice - Cinnamon - Burned Into The Crust. But She's Wearing These Dark Glasses In The Kitchen At Ten O'clock In The Morning - Everything Nice - As She Watches Me Break Off A Piece, Bring It To My Mouth, And Blow On It. My Daughter's Kitchen, In Winter. I Fork The Pie In And Tell Myself To Stay Out Of It. She Says She Loves Him. No Way Could It Be Worse.