His first thought, of course, was to hide.

FAST FRIENDS BY BILL SCHILLACI 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 30

Fleet Haberstroh was wrapping a tuna salad on rye in wax paper when he happened to gaze up and through the front window of his father’s delicatessen to see Moira Darveau standing on the opposite side of Franklin Turnpike looking for a break in the traffic. Fleet’s hands weakened around the sandwich as his mind raced. His first thought, of course, was to hide. This he could easily do by retreating to the small kitchen in the back or perhaps by squatting down behind the refrigerated display case that housed Boar’s Head lunch meats and cheeses and the homemade potato salad and coleslaw that the business had been selling for sixty years going back to Fleet’s grandfather.

Fleet glanced to the kitchen where he could see the back of his father Quentin, who was chatting with El Maximo, the driver who delivered orders for the deli. Flee into the kitchen, breathlessly say “bathroom emergency, customer out front”, and sit on the toilet…