The two boys stared out Lonnie's kitchen window. "So, yeah. After Vegas, I never saw her again. We lost that huge chunk of cash and were okay until we got back to Gary [Indiana] and then we were just irrationally mad at each other." (this was) Mike said. He sipped tentatively at his coffee --still too hot, apparently-- a few times before adding, "Maybe it was just me."
"You should introduce me to Jane, then." Lonnie nodded, shuffled eggs and green peppers around in a skillet with a wooden spoon.
"Yea, totally dude. Sometime before we die: introduce me to Jane."
"I really like this song," and so the subject changed.
(Jane told me that once. She said, your writing is like a story with no filler at all. It's just the most important moments." I think, now, or in (yet) another life as a literary agent (or critic) she'd tell me that my moments needed context, needed frivolous details, things I remember but don't want to include. Maybe she'd tell me My readers needed more colors and smells and throw away details to hold onto -- "Mike," she'd say, "One's dude's trash is another man's treasure, ya know?" Then she'd twirl her wooden beads necklace, or she'd flick cigarette ash into a cut up beer can of an ash tray or something and I'd nod and not comment on her comment, other than maybe a "yah.")