“No, Penelope, thank you. I had an excellent time. I’ve always wanted to ask you out but…”

“Didn’t know how long you should wait before it’s proper to ask a recently widowed lady to a concert?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harold. My marriage to Oscar wasn’t going all that well. If he hadn’t expired unexpectedly, I probably would have divorced him.”

“Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“I don’t mind, Harold. You know, sometimes I don’t even know why I married Oscar.”

“Oh?”

“We were hardly what you would call ‘compatible.’ He liked The Duke Robillard Band, while I liked Green Day. He demanded that we see Hothouse Flowers, but wouldn’t buy me tickets for Gallagher.”

“That can be a problem.”

“He insisted on April Wine when I wanted to see that Area: One tour with Moby. I wanted handcuffs while he preferred leather straps. You know how it goes.”

“I guess.”

“So when he and I were sitting in the Dew Drop Inn, and he’s bragging to whoever would listen about his collection of Metallica tracks that he scored off of Napster, I didn’t bother to tell him that Lars Ulrich was sitting at the next table.”

“I hear he can be pretty nasty.”

“He drummed the entire And Justice For All album on Oscar’s head right before he threw him through the window.”

“Ouch!”

“But that’s all in the past. I’ve got to move on with my life. Meet new people, see Amazing Crowns and Red House Painters. Oh, look at the time. I’d invite you in for a cup of coffee, but…”

“Still not too sure about reentering the dating scene?”

“Oh, it’s not that, Harold.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Work?”

Oh, no. I have to go to the funeral parlor and pick out Oscar’s coffin.”