“Well…” His eyebrows pinch together, and I find myself fighting the urge to reach out and smooth the newfound creases forming on his face. “In any other context, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t subject myself to an uncomfortable dinner over mediocre steak. I wouldn’t risk an even more uncomfortable conversation with my parents just so I could fly here –” He pauses to swat at a fly that’s dangerously close to landing on my shoulder. “A place that seems to be teeming with bugs in the dead of winter. And the worst tattoos I’ve ever seen in my life. And far too many Confederate flags. I wouldn’t do any of
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A psychiatrist with a new copy of the DSM-5 would have a FIELD DAY with him
