Whack A Mole

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I've never been what you might call an “overachiever” but at age twenty-five I've already done the worst thing any human being can possibly do.

John Ceepak, my partner, tells me I should let it all out. Get it off my chest. Make what the priests used to call a full and complete confession.

Fine.

I'll do like Ceepak suggests.

It all starts with this stupid ring he found.

Last Sunday. Six fifty-five A.M. Bruce Springsteen is on the radio reciting my most recent résumé: “I had a job, I had a girl, I had something going, mister, in this world….”

I'm sitting in The Bagel Lagoon waiting for Ceepak. He lives here. Not in the restaurant with the bagels-upstairs in the apartment on the second floor.

“She said Joe, I gotta go, we had it once, we ain't got it any more. She packed her bags, left me behind….”

The Boss is laying it on thicker than a slab of walnut cream cheese. Says he feels like he's “a rider on a down-bound train.”

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