Lenny calls from the airport.
“Brother, there’s no one left to hold my hand.”
I hear what sounds like slot machines in the background.
“Arcade,” Lenny says. “I can be in Tucson by morning,” he says.
I flip a coin in my imaginary mind.
“Better not,” I say. “Janice and I are splitting for the weekend.”
“Why do I even bother getting married,” Lenny says.
“It’s like I’ve got a ‘Beat Me’ sign on my forehead.”
“‘Open all night,’” I add.
“I don’t get it,” Lenny says.
My brother Lenny is in LA.
We used to share bunk beds
in a ranch house in Encino
back in the old days.
When we were little kids,
losing sleep over whose frog it was,
over tree houses.
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