I cut up Market Street to Church. I'm on one side of the street, Joey's on the other. He stops in front of the building where he lives with his mom and dad.
I sit in the entrance to the laundromat across from him, more tired than curious.
Joey picks a cigarette butt off the ground. He looks it over, sparks it with a lighter he takes from his pocket. He smokes it like a hundred-dollar cigar. When it starts to burn his fingertips, he chucks it, then goes inside.
Ev steps into view from the entrance to the building right next to me. She must have been waiting. I missed her because I was watching Joey. She probably missed me, too, for the same reason. She stands there, not ten feet away, hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt, staring at the door that Joey just went through. After a moment, she turns and goes running down the hill.
