Two Strikes, by Eric Smith

Dee waitressed in a pizza joint; Ann was a nurse. I imagined her as tall, slim, and pretty in her cool, white uniform. Dee moved slowly and looked unhappy; she was 26, ancient to me. I couldn’t imagine the sun rising in her eyes. Gary asked Dee about Ann’s availability. Ann was busy—had a boyfriend. Then Dee made it clear how tired she was and ended the conversation asking if we wanted fries with the milkshakes. Then we left for New York but kept going. We parked on the street in Boston and slept in the car.