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at each other but I just keep walking. It’s three in the afternoon and the shop is empty except for the girl with the tattooed face who’s on the nod at the last table in the back. I remember when that girl started coming around the neighborhood, with her Barbie lunchbox, looking to get high. People would say she was pretty, except for the tattoos. It’s like she only had that one thing wrong with her, but that was enough. The blue ink obscures her face entirely. It runs from her ears and eyes and curls under her chin like a beard. She gets in cars and turns tricks down by Folsom Street.
    Valerie has finished her slice and is throwing away the paper plate. She pours herself a soda and dumps three ounces of peach syrup into it. She wipes her mouth with her forearm and then puckers her lips.
    The light is blinking on the machine and all of my windows are open. The workers from the factory are huddled around the white lunch truck.
    You fucking punk bitch. You think you can send me an email saying you don’t want to see me anymore and that’s it? I don’t know what kind of game you are playing. Be as close to a man as you can be and pick up the motherfucking phone or do something that makes me less inclined to rip your fucking thinning hair out by the pale roots. I really don’t have time for your shit. You belong on your back with me suffocating you. Why do you think there is room for you? Don’t you think I have my own problems? I will ambush you somewhere. I will leave permanent marks. I warn you, don’t fuck with me. You can’t run away. I will be there tomorrow and if you are not available your whole neighborhood will know what a sissy punk bitch who likes to be raped you are. Don’t underestimate my cruelty.
    At work I stand near the counter. “C’mon,” Valerie says. I take a breath before wrapping the last bagel of the morning in paper and handing it to the customer who walks out the door. Outside they’re routing traffic around Valencia and the cars, each pointing in a slightly different direction, seem to be trying to climb over one another but none of them are moving. The cars need to get through. There is no way around Valencia. It’s starting to rain. People run past the windows with papers over their hats. Philc and Valerie are in the back with the recycling and the trash, having a cigarette under the porch hang. I open the newspaper; there’s been an invasion. I look up and Philc is standing at the counter in front of me. “Hey,” he says quietly. “We need to come to an understanding, bro.” I fold the newspaper, slide it over by the cookies. “Valerie loves you. Do you know that, man? You’re family. You are. I think we can make this work.” He pulls a toothpick from his pocket and plays with it between his front teeth. “Maybe we can all get a place together. You know what I mean? The three of us. No more bad times.” He speaks calmly and I wonder what kind of pills he’s been taking and if they would do me any good and how long they would last. “Friends for life?” He stretches his hand across the counter. I take his hand because every small bit of peace is worth having.
    I put the bagels away and wrap the day-old pastries. Valerie comes back to help me. The rain is beating down on the sidewalk and Philc is sitting quietly in the back making origami from napkins.
    That time you were tied up before. You looked so innocent. I wanted to draw blood. But I didn’t. Do you know why? You like to think you’re smart so you think other people can’t understand you. You are so funny! Did you ever think I was reasonable? I mean, I can be a reasonable person but I don’t like being played with. You cannot spend time with me and then send some pathetic excuse to disappear. Is that how you handle things? By running away? It doesn’t work like that little boy. Answer your phone next time I call.
    I tell Ambellina I’m sorry and ask if I can take her to see
Casablanca
at the Paramount in