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There on his recently deceased wife’s side was that which he hunted. The .45 automatic lay there, the magazine removed, and the one round meant for...him that night rested atop of a piece of paper. Slowly, he walked to the side of the bed, and then sank to his knees as a silent tear trailed down his cheek. The paper was one he had buried with his wife just that morning. He put the paper in her hands, as they lay crossed over her heart, on it, a poem he found from an unknown author. I Miss You I. Screw it, he thought. I need to talk to Ben. I know he can keep secrets. Ben didn’t bother calling Todd back. He just showed up with pizza, a sixpack of beer and a twelve pack of Barqs. ‘Yo, sleeping ugly, game on.’ ‘Since you brought food, I’ll let that crack go, asshole,’ Todd replied with a grin. ‘But Pac10 football is just a weak substitution for the real thing.’ The friends chowed down and lost themselves in pigskin and pepperoni until halftime. Then Todd felt refreshed enough to broach. More

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