For almost my entire senior year, I had hung out with Corrine non-stop. I’d considered her my good friend before I even knew any of the other girls....Her sudden departure from my life was unbearable; it nagged me constantly, the social equivalent of a phantom limb. I started making an extra effort to meet with Corrine between classes, when Steve would not be around. She appreciated the effort, and I became her one link to the others. It wasn’t much, I guess, but it was better than no Corrine at. At first glance the cafe was as deserted as the streets had been, but it was steamy warm, and the golden bulbs were life. The man behind the counter looked as if he had stood there for ever, brown, wrinkled and liver-spotted, his face was a guarded welcome for someone else who couldn’t or didn’t sleep. He sold me a cup of tea and slipped rounds of toast into a grill, I sat down. There was a paper on the red Formica table-top. The Brown man put the toast down next to it. The headlines shouted to. More

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