“How about Thursday around ten?” He asks.

“Eight,” I correct.

“In the morning?” Rascal whines.

“Breakfast is customarily in the morning, yes,” I say. Rascal exhales.

“Fine. Fine. 8 o’clock in the motherfucking morning, you big baby,” Rascal says.

“Doughboys?” I offer.

“Parking is such a bitch there,” Rascal complains.

“Parking’s a bitch everywhere,” Will says, stamping out his cigarette on the sidewalk.

“But not everywhere has giant cupcakes,” I add.