Today’s
Puzzle
By
Linnaeus
Bloom
It
was
a
lifelong
dream
of
his
to
publish
a
crossword
in
The
New
York
Times.
“They’re
made
by
ordinary
people,”
he
told
her.
“Just
like
you
and
me.”
Seeing
his
name
in
print
filled
her
with
the
same
breathless
bewilderment
as
when
she’d
heard
of
his
new
girlfriend.
The
thought
of
him
happy.
Successful.
Growing
and
becoming
without
her.
It
seemed
their
whole
relationship
had
now
been
whispered
into
the
ear
of
Will
Shortz
–
crossword
editor,
puzzle
master,
and
lousy
confidant
extraordinaire.
There
was
one
across.
How
they
met.
She
tripped
over
a
one
across.
Really
ate
shit.
He
helped
her
up
and
patted
her
on
the
head.
“There,
there,”
he
said
coyly,
and
she
laughed
instead
of
screaming
at
everything
–
the
one
across,
the
gawking
strangers,
the
world
that
was
out
to
get
her.
Then
there
was
their
first
vacation
together
at
eighteen
across.
Fifty-‐three
across
was
her
favorite
book.
He
said
it
was
his
too
but
later
admitted
he’d
never
read
it.
Every
year
for
his
birthday
she
gave
him
thirty-‐five
down.
On
their
second
anniversary,
they
splurged
for
twelve
across,
even
though
it
meant
the
rest
of
the
week
they’d
eat
only
Ramen.
Every
clue
a
detail
slowly
spelling
out
their
demise.
Was
it
a
message?
Did
he
leave
it
all
there
for
her
to
find?
A
bat
signal.
“Come
save
me
from
my
happily
boring
life
with
Not
You.”
He
loved
a
puzzle.
The
new
girl
was
certainly
no
puzzle.
Or
it
was
some
kind
of
map?
And
if
she
snaked
along
its
right
angles…ex
marked
the
spot?
The
spot
where
they
could
be
happy?
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