"Look at you!" Tony said when he came to the door. We embraced.

"Hey, Tony. Hey! What're you up to?" I had thought he was still in prison.
For beating up on his wife. They used to really go at it.

"Not much. Just having a little breakfast."

It looked like a half chicken there in the skillet.
He was paying attention to it again, turning the pieces carefully with tongs.

"Smells great," I told him.

"Want some?"

I shook my head. "Thanks anyhow."

"Want some wine? Len drinks good wine now. Not that shitty port."

The oil hissed and sputtered.

"Some smoke?" Tony gestured with the tongs at a joint
that had been stubbed out in an ashtray next to the stove.

"Nah. I'm good. I'll just watch you." I leaned on the breakfast bar so I was facing him.
"What're you doing these days anyway?"

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