“We were friendly,” she said.

Dori’s head cocked a bit. In her face was a peculiar wisdom, a stillness most people of her age group did not have. A petal broke away from the mum on her lapel and caught on her blouse.

“And… there’s still time to offer your condolences. But I think you may need mine instead. You seem…” she assessed him in search of a suitable descriptor. “Crestfallen.” Dori dropped her cigarette and ground her shoe onto the ignited end. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so frank.”