Sami

I wipe ketchup from my chin as I set the partially eaten cheeseburger in the plastic basket lined with crinkly paper that’s sitting upon my lap. With the windows of Marshal’s car open and the summer breeze, the scene reminds me a bit of when we were young.

“I don’t remember the last time I ate here,” I say, looking up at the sign THE SUDS.

“Do you remember riding our bikes here?”

“I do.” I look over at Marshal, wondering what will happen to ...