Her name is Wendy, and she is (or was, or whatever) in HR at a bank.  Her kid grew up and left home, her husband having done the same long before, and she’s worried that she’s going to turn into her grandmother, who died alone in a condo in Miami.  She refuses to play bridge.

She tells Jeremy this (after she coaxes him out from behind a bus shelter) over cigarettes and cappucinos that they make themselves in a Starbucks.

The guy sitting at the table with them doesn’t move, but his eyes flick like he’s trying to say something.


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