. . they were just echoes of a bad dream. No, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks, and the dreams he had were simply a parody of love and...the silent betrayal of an oath. Down another street, up another alley, each beige brick house looking like the one next to it, endless in their monotonous acquiescence. Endless broken dreams, they seemed to stand as silent monuments to vapid futility and preening vanity. He thought about the lives that inevitably played out behind all those brick. "I'll have a shrimp cocktail for an appetizer, the salad with ranch dressing, a ladies cut of filet mignon medium rare, a twice baked potato," she smiled, returning her menu to the waiter."The same for me except I'll take the bigger cut. Just baked potato with butter, no sour cream. And a bottle of your best red wine." We have buttered broccoli that comes with your meal?" That's sounds nice, I love broccoli," he replied. Emma passed. She had ordered what she felt was too much as it was."Very. More

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