I didn’t want to say that I looked tired because there was a sentient poster of a turtle in my bedroom. I didn’t want to confess that I’d been staying up late swinging in parks with an insane girl who thought my name was Astrid, or that I’d lost touch with my best friend because she had developed a drug addiction. I was eyeing the twitching salt and pepper shakers in front of me. I knew while I watched them move that I had lost it, so I lied and said that I was fine.
