Was he dining alone or entertaining a ghost from days gone by?
“Pizza for the crusty fool’s last supper, how appropriate,” the assassin thought as she wiped the bloody knife with her right hand on the white linen napkin still draped across the victim’s lap and reached for the last of the mixed olives with her left.
“Finally I can eat my pizza in peace without being told I’m fat or that the crust is th best part or that DiNillo’s sauce is better or any of that constant stream of crap that used to ruin every date and every dinner fifteen freakin’ years,” he thought as he fought the urge to cry.
Ed called out his order, “Two BLTs, Lil, lightly toasted, an iced tea and a water”, the same request throughout fifty years of date nights; they held hands, still, and smiled.
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