five

Weymouth clears his throat, but it’s Connie saying, “Did you hear the one about the guy who strolls into the Monday morning credit union and has his credit card shredded? Because his life is so screwed up?” “Or,” Weymouth says, while sipping some of my half n’ half, “because it’s so wildly together?”

“Well anyway,” Connie says, “it’s just a story going around town. Now, about last night and that cutie pie Weymouth and my lucky, lucky cutie-pied self up all hours ruminating and Contemplating and

• Reflecting
• Pondering
• Meditating
• Deliberating
• Mulling over
• Speculating
• Considering
• Chewing over

      and brooding about how to help and maybe even save your inertia-rized, stuck in the middle, lost in space, ain’t no author here self. Are you interested to hear what all our devotion to the one and only you came up with?”

“Sure,” I say again.

“Sweet,” says Weymouth. “Buckle up.”