“I don’t care,” Simmon said hotly. “It’s barbaric.” He hammered out his last word on the table with his fist, upsetting his glass and spilling a dark pool of scutten across the table. “Shit.” He scrambled to his feet and tried to keep it from spilling on the floor with his hands. I laughed helplessly until there was water in my eyes and my stomach ached. I felt a weight lift off my chest as I finally regained my breath. “I love you, Sim,” I said earnestly. “Sometimes I think you’re the only honest person I know.” He looked me over. “You’re drunk.” “No, it’s the truth. You’re a good person.
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That is the kind of friendship I aspire to cultivate, always…but oh the risk…of finding those who are trustworthy and selfless enough of heart to merit the trust.
And since we're being honest I doubt lately that I've inspired this kind of friendship but I am aware and workin on it
