“She was my heroin,” I said gazing into the pond. “I was addicted,” I continued the metaphor, as I continued gazing into the pond. A few ducks nodded in tandem. Most swam away, bored, no doubt, with the same story told by every guy who sits alone on a bench by a pond.

One duck spoke. “Tell me more,” it said, and by the by, we got to know each other. I invited the duck over for dinner. It accepted my invitation, probably out of sympathy.

……

I told K about my unexpected  friendship. “What should I serve for dinner,” I asked him.

“Duck,” K replied feigning seriousness. We  laughed in that way you laugh about things like cannibalism.

I served pasta instead. The duck was a gracious guest. We ate mostly in silence, each unsure how to proceed. “You know,” the duck finally said, “I thought you invited me over so you could eat me.”

We laughed in the way K and I laughed earlier. “I’m a vegetarian,” I explained. Then I attacked and killed it.

……

I called her for the first time in a long time. “I made you duck,” I whispered to the voice on the other end.