We were still inching our way through the student parking lot.
I mean, I love you, and it’s not your fault, but your anxiety does kind of invite disasters.”
At last I pulled off campus and headed north up Meridian toward the highway.
She kept talking, of course. She always did. “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve let Ayala die years ago.
But yeah, you’re right, it is kind of a way of coping with—I mean, Holmesy, you’re exhausting.”
“Yeah, all our friendship has gotten you in the last couple months is fifty thousand dollars and a boyfriend.
You’re right, I’m a terrible person. What’d you call me in that story? Useless. I’m useless.”
“Aza, she’s not you. But you are... extremely self-centered.
Like, I know you have the mental problems and whatever, but they do make you . . you know.”
“I don’t know, actually. They make me what?” “Mychal said once that you’re like mustard.
Great in small quantities, but then a lot of you is... a lot.” I didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said that.” We were stopped at a red light,
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