When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Chapter 5 “Hey, Angelo.” Jo noticed that he’d parked his Tuscan-yellow restaurant van with dark blue lettering next to her car’s passenger door. Glancing over at her he dropped his keys. He leaned down to fetch them, then stood up under the van’s mirror. He whacked his head good and hard, then slid nervelessly out of sight. She sprinted around her car to see if he was still alive. He sat on the ground beside his dropped gym bag and keys, with his back against the van’s door. His head was between his knees and his hands were wrapped around the back of it. A string of Italian that sounded beautiful, but she’d wager was actually some serious invective, streamed out into the air. She’d studied French, which gave her some of the roots, but the sound of the traffic rolling along on Eastlake