“The therapist twisted my legs like I was made out of playdough,” he complained. “I’m never recovering from this injury. How ’bout you?” Lazily stirring, listening to the teaspoon clink against the delicate mug, I blew a lock of hair from my face. “Settling in at Row and Cal’s apartment. Manhattan is, um, a lot.” My laugh was self-deprecating. “Once you get used to the big city, you fall in love with the anonymity of it.”
