Before they left us, one of them fired the question:
“No,” we replied in Chorus. “Los esposos!”
“Cool,” the kid shrugged. Then he smiled at me. “your hat. Your hat. Can I see your hat.”
I handed it to him, a filthy gray and white Stussy I had stress-purchased in between writing deadlines three days before the wedding. He started to walk away with it, his little souveneir of casual american masculinity. I can always admire a fellow sly bastard when I see one, but it wasn’t a generous kind of admiration
There’s not a moment in this world poignant enough to make me give up a favorite cap. I said this article’s about getting married, not canonized.