He laughed, and then thought it odd to have laughed just then. It was just that now, after everything, it seemed absurd they had been so sad last year when the cat died. He looked across the dry backyard, and laughed again. “That pinche truck, that pinche, red truck.” They had bought it on Valentine’s Day—what, like seventeen years ago?—and they had laughed about buying a red truck on Valentine’s Day. And then he cried, as the yard turned red in the sunset light. This very morning, his wife had been alive, she had seen the sun this very morning. He looked across the yard at the red truck, and he thought about Valentine’s Day.
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