"HarveyRuth"
requested by Katya
by feldman
He refrains from smashing the headstone. The only useful anger is the one he's failing to kindle in John.
The flowers in his hand are rapini, a beautiful bitter green that tastes best when exposed to intense heat and agitation--stir fried--bringing out the sweetness to compliment the bite. Harvey knows that pizza and beer are the easy answers, a shorthand notation representing the complex equation of everything lost. He prefers teasing out the subtle complexities beneath, they comprise the breadth and depth of the cozy universe he'd been exiled to.
There is another exile buried in another stubborn brain. Harvey wishes him
well.