Red’s eyes flew from the tickets to his face. She gasped excitedly. “Tonight!”
“Um-hmm.”
“Ooo, this is really far out. But what time. We’ll be late. We should eat up....”
He raised a hand. “We still have a good hour before we need to be—”
“But I’ve got something special, too. Dessert.”
“Dessert?” Red opened the flap of her new purse, flashed him the contents, an aluminum foil–covered block, closed the flap. “Hmm?”
She leaned across the table. He leaned in. “Magic brownies,” she whispered. “I got some hash from Gino.”
From the restaurant they walked north on Columbus Ave. to the small green before St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s. It was still light, clear, a perfect San Francisco September eve. Bobby bought two cans of Coke from a street vendor and he and Red sat on a bench, ate magic bro
