French vanilla Converse, taupe-boxed flannel (too big), and an American Spirit burning, real, real slow. What a hipster ****; what a culture-eating parasite. He says, 'Read Proust with me.' He says something about how his dad is dead but not in a literal sense; metaphorically. I was never interested in that part in the avant-garde spoken poetry Friday nights.
I bust into the bathroom and *****, grasping Bed Bath and Beyond clearance items. The walls are the same shade of green as my skin. A hand pets my thigh and I'm told it'll all be okay. How those knuckles knew, I'll never know.