I’ve always liked to get up early. Less competition for thinking time and sitting time and staring into nothing time. It turned out that Bron had the same habit, so we’d come to the point of joint early-morning breakfasts. It was a little ritual of tea, sweet breads, and egg tacos. We’d sit in the early patches of sun that washed through the windows of Dau Hermanos. We wouldn’t talk much, and when we did we’d just sort of throw words out and wait to see if they got caught. So it was something of a surprise when Bron addressed me directly just as I bit into a rolled tortilla. The other surprise was that he sounded hesitant, not like Bron at all. “Persia,” he said, and then his voice just faded away. He shifted in his chair and looked at the bar instead of the window and tried again. “Persia.” I said, “Yes, Bron?” this time in an attempt to encourage him. “There’s something that may be a situation.” It took him a long time to say that sentence, and I felt a little chill run through the sunlight.
