He doesn't have nightmares about how he should've run in to save her or call the cops sooner or something, anything."Marshmallow?" groans Nic. His arm...is outstretched toward me with his sleeve dangling straight over the fire. In his hand is a stick with the sad remains of a burnt and melting marshmallow. It drips slowly and pathetically off the stick as he waits for a reply."I'm good, man." I try to keep the malice out of my voice but some of it leaks through anyway. He's too stoned to care but. "Hey," Duane replied. "I'm glad we could meet," he added, smiling."Yeah," I answered. "Me, too!" You look SO much like Tiffany," Duane observed. "I can see where she get's her looks!"I blushed then. I couldn't help it. I hadn't been complimented for my looks in years. Certainly not by my husband, who I had apparently become somewhat invisible over the years, and I liked Duane's compliment very much."Thanks," I replied.We ordered some lattes, and then sat there sipping on the thick, creamy. More

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