sentence.
“Nobody was going to bury me as a John Doe.”
My smile vanished.
I sat down.
“No.”
Less than a month earlier, Larry had been sitting outside my usual subway station with a piece of cardboard resting across his knees.
Written across it in large black letters were the words:
MARRY ME. I HAVE ONE MONTH LEFT TO LIVE.
I had known Larry for nearly two years.
Every weekday morning, I stopped at the coffee kiosk beside the station and bought two cups.
Mine had cream.
His was always
