“Paulie!” Celia yelled happily and caught herself before she jumped into his arms and crushed the roses he was bringing to her.“Are those ... fo... me?”“Yes they are, Celia, two dozen long stemmed. The very best Taylor’s florist had.”“Hey guy!” Jim shouted from just behind his wife. “Would that be a case of Sam Adams?”“It would, and it is for the two of you. But the roses are strictly Celia’s. She took me in on the coldest night in history and fed me.”“You sold the book!” Celia said, making it a. We shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be going through this. Our hugs should not be reduced to pressing our hands to the glass and aligning them, accompanied by strained, humorless smiles. It is at this window, sitting on a stainless steel stool, leaning on a stainless counter,, where I was told how to make a decent cup of coffee in jail. You take one packet of coffee, a couple hot cocoa packets. Mix ’em together in hot water. Then, add a couple atomic fireballs, and roll. More

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