Evening at Portofino Ristorante

the dining hall is half empty because it is friday - shabbat and good jews light candles at home not such a good jew i am out with my female friend both of us dressed for the late winter evening conversation is light, muted mostly about the eggplant dish i'm having or calimari my elegant friend is having while the wizened broad in the back plays dulcet tones on the steinway my mind drifts from the idle talk as i think how at such a place with the white tablecloths quiet music and low lighting they shot dead rosie rosenthal when he stepped outside for a smoke i half expect to get shot too when at length the dinner concludes and we rejoin the chilly night with near regret i note i'm not for they'd recall me like rosie and i'd not wake up still alone