Talk centers on Gabe's return from Europe, how Brussels was "rad." Things start off okay, but then my crab cake sandwich tastes like Stove Top stuffing, and the Bride's chai tea french toast is supposed to come with mascarpone but they are out of it and there's a sign on the unisex bathroom door that says PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING and the caffeine is making things disoriented, confused. Then we gather our checks and, I guess, it's time to pay.
And I remember how this one time when I called some friends and say "You guys wanna see a pig?"
No one believed me at first, that, there, right there in our bombed-out city, could there be a fucking pig living in someone's yard. It was too hot out, too abstract. Once I even took Caitlyn for a ride to see it, but she, who hadn't believed the various reports and cell phone pictures, couldn't deal, couldn't handle it. The idea blew her mind. She just shook her head and quietly said "That's a dog."
So we get in our cars and follow Gabe's Jetta down Warren to Oak and pass Morton and I see a cat that looks like one of my old sponsorees and we pull up on Nathan where the pig lives.
And we all get out and look at the pig and the pig rolls over and fucking grins at us. And Caitlyn, shocked, defeated, mind blown again, has to admit it's not a dog, that it really is a pig and the blue sky is painfully bright while we all decide what to do. Gabe says something about needing to go to Target, and how I should roll Caitlyn's change for them to go to Cape Cod and the Bride says she needs to work on her tan and I take a nap and when I wake up, confused, not sure it's evening or morning, it's almost time for a meeting and now I'm typing this.
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