“Wait,” Marcia said. “We can work this out. Give us a chance.”
“No,” I told her. “I don’t see any possibility of our working this out. We’ve been down this road before more than once and it always ends the same way.”
“But things will be different this time.” She said looking at me across the counter with pleading eyes. “I’ve figured out where we went wrong and now that I understand, everything can be put right.”
“Marcia, believe me when I tell you that my leaving is harder on me than it is on you.”
“Give me another chance—give us a final chance and you’ll see.”
“This was the final chance from our last in-depth talk and things only changed for a short while and then its back to the same old same old— wrinkles, it’s all about the wrinkles. It’s nothing I choose to live with any longer.”
Marcia bit her lower lip and turned her back. I picked up my imperfect dry cleaning, placed two twenties on the counter, and left, vowing never to return to her dry cleaning store no matter how convenient it was to my apartment.