“Sorry to wake you.”


“Listen. I need you to get over here. It’s Pop.”

I sat up. “I had a dream about him!”

“Yeah, well. This ain’t a dream. I need you to come to the house right away.”

“What happened? Is he okay?”

“I––I can’t tell. He’s sitting in the kitchen. He’s crying, Tony. Like a little kid.”

“Jesus. Why?”

“He won’t tell me. Came home from the restaurant at midnight and had a glass of wine like usual. Then he started sobbing.”

“Did something happen?”

“Maybe. Listen, my other line is ringing.”

“I’ll be right over.”


Friday Fictioneers