Christina opened a bar called The Pitiful Compromise, hoping that it would be accepted in the right spirit, and it was, though at first by an elite group of ironists, and in that way she met the man in the Arsenal soccer jersey who became her second husband and then, three years later, after a honeymoon in Italy that had both of them breathless with excitement at all times, after a return to the States to manage the bar, now a neighborhood institution, after two years of leveling off that she told herself were like a foundation settling, after fights that she knew were caused by drink and fights that could not have been, after an awkward moment where she saw him in the bar flirting with someone else, the same person, more than once, he became her murder victim, but not before he confessed that he had been feigning enthusiasm in Italy. “You’re too much,” he said. “I was undone by your intensity.” The bullet redotted the “i” in Emirates. He was wearing his jersey as he did far too often.
©Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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