I can see the connection she’s trying to make. It’s a string of red yarn leading from my random hookups to the hole Chris left in my heart, ending at the one place I allow myself to think about him. Too bad I have a pair of scissors in my hand, blades sharpened with denial and regret. “I go there for the fries, milkshakes, and conversation with the owner and his granddaughter. It doesn’t have anything to do with him.”
