Then, on the corner, he tossed it into the trash. He didn’t feel that bad about breaking up with Kristi via text. People of her generation were all about texting, which was just one example of their soullessness. I’m sorry, Kristi. I can’t see you tonight. In fact, we should take a break from seeing each other at all. My family needs me and I can’t let them down. Please forgive me. I do love you. It’s just not time for us right now. It was final without being hopeless. Romantic without leading her on, implying that in another time and place, they might be together. And anyway maybe it was even true. Wolf ducked into The Parlor on West Eighty-Sixth Street, a kind of divey, not too crowded sports bar that he and Blake had been drinking at since college. He spotted his friend over by the bar, as usual with his face buried in the newspaper, glasses drifting down his nose. His blond hair was graying, his sleeves rolled up, and his jacket and briefcase rested on the stool beside him.
