The band, he knew, was over. But as he walked past a Starbuck's coffee shop he had an idea.
Find Jobs. It wouldn't help him out of the current malaise. Just maybe, though, he could help him make some sense.
Was it really flat or was he missing something?
Friedman had to know.
He set off, walking the opposite direction, his suit jacket, only single breasted, reminding him of the past, his moment buying it at Men's Warehouse from an over-eager salesman.
He would need something more. Nordstrom's. Yes.
The gun he concealed.
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