Larry paused in opening the shed door to tilt his head back with a low groan of nostalgia.

"God, I miss New York pizza," he said, and finished shouldering open the door. "They have pizza at the restaurant here sometimes, but it's not the same."

The space inside the shed was small but well-kept, gardening tools hanging neatly from the walls or lined up in orderly rows on shelves. Dust motes spun lazily in the light from the single, tiny window as Larry pulled a red first aid kit from one of the shelves and opened it up on the little work table.

"I didn't even ask what you needed it for," he realized, and hitched up a half-smile. "I assume you're not dying or anything."