Are you happy? Herb asks, as we sit in a booth waiting for our food. It’s mid-November, 1970.
I don’t understand what he means by Happy. Of course I’m happy with Mom and Dad. I’m eight years old and I love them. There’s a jelly donut every Saturday morning, periodic trips to the Times Square Store, listening to Jeffrey’s music through the wall, pretending to be pirates with Harry in the basement, and dinners out to our family’s favorite restaurant, Kwong Ming.
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