Sunrays had just punctured the sky. I had almost organized some half-graded essays, and was reaching for my mochaccino, when my phone rang.
I wondered if, now, I will smell gourmet grounds and remember how he spoke in vocabulary words–indefatigable, rebuke, feign–to learn them faster. How, daily, he crowned me with his hats: yesterday, Yankees.
Or will sipping coffee remind me of his blood spilling? Shot not two times, but three, on Greenmount and 25th.
Sunlight splattered on the essays I would not touch. I wondered which hat he was wearing. Which one they will bury him in.