Paul was holding a coffee mug. It was chipped, blue, with a faded picture of a walrus. Claire’s heart did a small, familiar ache.
Now, ten years later, they were packing up the remnants. The walrus mug went into a box marked “Claire – kitchen.” The guitar case was latched. Maggie found a stack of old scripts, yellowed and dog-eared. “My masterpiece,” she said, holding up one titled The Suburban Abyss . “It’s terrible.” the friends 1994
“It’s not,” Paul said, and he sounded sincere. Paul was holding a coffee mug
“We ordered pizza,” Claire whispered, the memory rushing back. The cramped apartment with the leaky radiator, the windows that fogged up so the city outside looked like a watercolor. The four of them, sprawled on this very floor, eating greasy slices and arguing about the best Springsteen album. Now, ten years later, they were packing up the remnants