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Show itfoodworth/37 "Do negative numbers count?" "Only backwards." Marty laughs this time, remembering the high school joke, watching her friend's face. "How did you manage to find those two?" "You aren't going to believe this. But this was their table. I asked them if they minded if I joined them. Then I kicked them out." "Great. Only you lost me a free drink before you booted them. I think that means you owe me one." "Ok," Rachael agrees. "But let's get out of here, and try some place else. I have never in my whole life seen such a collection of bland men. They look like they've been sitting under bridges counting pennies for the last two hundred years." "Harvard men." "Oh, God have mercy, they probably are. All punched from the same cookie cutter. Cloned from the same test tube, as the case may be." "'Cept for that Bob. Cute adam's apple." "Why is it that when I'm horny, the only things available are trolls, zeros, and little boys?" "'Cause you've already been through everything else in Boston," Marty jokes-*-*, They are on Commercial Street, the air smelling like salt, boats rubbing sides, whining and sighing. Marty thinks of Nantucket, long summers of kissing one or another, sand in the hair, beer spray or wood smoke clinging to sweatshirts, salt on the skin, sneaking cigarettes with Jake. Sleeping late, and waking to a symphony of seagulls scaling wind currents, the smell of fish cooking, and Ned, up before dawn, singing as he cleans and fries. |