Of all the 8,954 couples breaking up this afternoon in the five boroughs of New York, Bruce was the last to leave from his apartment alone and without a future, not stepping onto the hot pavement of East 23rd Street until 5:48PM.
On his right shoulder, he balanced a linen camping bag with his everything he owned — three t-shirts, a heavy yellow beach towel, some J Crew underwear he recently ordered online, a pair of ripped jeans, his college French books, an old DVD box set of The Sopranos, and a dead cat.
The dead cat was an unexpected addition. As he packed, Bruce argued with his girlfriend, Judith, over the ownership of Fluffy, the black and white striped American short hair. Judith caved in, as usual, but always the performance artist, took the revolver from the hat box in the closet, shot Fluffy in the head, and with the blood dripping down her arm, she handed the cat over to Bruce as a final parting gift.