Got to get back to our roots, I'm thinking, over tea and blind melon. Johnny looks back at me over his shoulder in some dream-land of pinball and high cool cliffs at night on railroad tracks.

"Really?" He says. cocking an eyebrow Stephen-wise to let me know who he's mocking, but smiling Johnny-pure, I-know-where-my-home-is.

"Really," I say, munching away on fried apples, sausage, berry muffins, "did you think I would have forgotten, really?"

"Because I can bring you what your heart desires?" He sighs. He doesn't know about his, himself. The terribly succeptable to the whisperings of dark men in black hats, that's my Johnny.

So I draw his invisibility into the curve of my body and drop a kiss in the shadow of his ear and remind him that everything's all right, yes, everythings fine, and I won't leave him bereft of anima on a bus towards Philly, alone and afraid. I promise, I swaer, by the moon and the stars and the night that is ours.

"I believe you." He says, and his bony transparent shoulders relax, and we sit like that, together, for some time after my dinner is done, he and I.

<<agé chose>>

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