the best reason to eat high fructose corn syrup frozen in plastic

“I need to eat Flav-Or-Ice for the next week. This is great. What excuse could possibly be better?”

We walk into her appartment. She’s living with Ted, but it’s agnostic. Which is to say that they share the rent, but don’t sleep together. At least as far as I know.

I greet him; he grunts. Maybe I grunt too, I’m not quite sure. We pick up her cigarettes and leave.

We get in her car, which used to be her Grandma’s, and reeks of smoke (which I’ll later use as an excuse as to why I reek as well), and is just about the most amazing car I ever ride in, including the Mercedes I often ride shot-gun in, and go south. We had gone north to get to her apartment, but all the coffee is south, if just barely.

We arrive at Greg’s coffee shop, but there’s no parking. We park a few block away and walk to the place.

“I probably shouldn’t have coffee,” she says.

“That’s not right.”

She laughs. But only for my own amusement. “The piercing should heal soon.”

“Sure” I say. But I still resent her lack of coffee.

On our way back up north she tells me about Robert. Bob. They took a walk on the beach by her apartment and he touched her hand it was electric she says. I edge my hand over but I know it’s no use. I light a cigarette and look out the window.