The inane things you say make me want to die. The fumble, the field goal, the basket, the tackle. How ******* hot your girlfriend looks in that tight top and short skirt. How you could totally nail the girl who just walked past us at the bar.

But when your nicotine dusted fingertips start to make my lips go numb. When you grab my hair. When you gasp. And when we’re lying there after. That’s when I forget these things.

I guess I’ll live.