Frank wasn't gone long. The bodega was better stocked than the one that he lived nearest to, back in Manhattan, and he was a little jealous about it. He grabbed them enough food to make it through breakfast, and maybe lunch as well if they made it that far, and then headed back to the apartment, half expecting Billy to have fallen back asleep--it was still sort of early--or have slipped into the shower.

In either case, Frank went straight for the little kitchen to start coffee--of course Billy had a French press, and Frank had been banking on that--and eggs.