He’d loved her for her beautiful confidence, her sense of honor. Vivi had loved him, he supposed, because he was a scuzzy punk from the city and she collected weirdos. But later they found they shared an essential desire for justice. They both liked to poke at authority. With her, Alfonzo felt protected. She believed in him as a thinker. After college, they’d rented an apartment in Gowanus and joined the food co-op. Vivi got a job at a nonprofit teaching poetry at public schools. They decorated from thrift shops and their parents’ odds and ends. They hosted their friends for Malbec and grass. They pantomimed grown-up life. There was an image in their heads of how adult animals behaved. But then, as they sank deeper into it, Alfonzo felt the pressure intensify. Why not go to Argentina or do volunteer work in the Himalayas? she asked. How would we even get there? Alfonzo shouted. She said, By boat. But how would we even pay for it? It wasn’t really a fight about transportation.

Little things accumulated. They fought about security and direction. She demanded answers Alfonzo didn’t have. Alfonzo felt he had to find a stable job and stick with it. She was disappointed and he was exasperated.

He had to stay in the city; that’s what adults did. After his mother died, he collapsed inward. He’d stay out till all hours with Mitchell. With Vivi, he couldn’t string a conversation together. She accused him of cowardice. She reminded him they were still young and could still go out into the world. He said he wasn’t rich like her, so he didn’t have the privilege of swanning around like a spoiled brat. The breakup was a slow drift. Vivi went to visit her parents, and Alfonzo said maybe it was best if she didn’t come back.

Even though it was his doing, Alfonzo still wasn’t over it. Death and separation, the two illuminated each other. Mothers and lovers in the eyes of young males. Oppositions and symmetries. He had been an idiot.

Mitchell cleared his throat; he didn’t want to listen to Alfonzo hum on and on about Vivi like he always did. She was a sweet vicuña, but it was a lost cause.

“Buddy, I want you to join me in the present. It’s all right to let go.”

Alfonzo apologized for being stupid. They skirted a heap of garbage by stepping into the road, only to hear shouts from a pair of weasels hanging off a carting truck. A cloud of music puffed from a poodle-themed bar.

“The least you could do is try to be friendly. Maybe you’ll meet someone sweet.” Mitchell believed in making friends.

“I don’t want sweet; I want revolutionaries.”

“Sure thing, Carlos the Jackal.”