It was all very sudden. We played racquetball with another friend. After racquetball the three of us would go to "Presto Pasta" and have the chicken piccata. It was tradition. One day after racquetball and "Presto Pasta," I didn't go home. I took him to a student play festival, we went to a Grand Opening of a local "Borders," went to a bar with friends, and went to the beach. All in that first night.
Four years ago today we were stopping at a "Jack in the Box" for greasy breakfast. I was pretty sure we'd break up in two weeks and told him so.
I guess it's all right I was wrong.
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