I Loved You More

by Tom Spanbauer

“It’s all sad, Gruney,” Hank said. “If we let ourselves know how sad it really is, there wouldn’t be anything left of us.”

Virginia Woolf put herself in the hospital after every one of her books. Except the last one.

We talked some as we worked. Guy talk, as much as I can figure out what that is.

“It’s always been a mystery,” I said, “what it is to be male and what that means.” “So you attack two guys from New Jersey with a fucking broom?” Hank said. “You find out what it is,” I said, “by what it ain’t.”