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“I love lasagna,” says Jeff. “Do you—do you love lasagna?” When she ignores him for the second time, I start to feel bad for the guy hoping to cut the organs out of my corpse. I sit up and turn to face him. “For what it’s worth, Jeff, I fucking love lasagna.” Jeff screams.
According to the ID I fished out of the cup holder, his name is Jeff Jefferson. Different Jeff with a side of Jeff. I can’t make this shit up.
I’d like to curl up inside his shirt and rest. I want to be dropped in his pocket and left to sleep. I want to stand close to him just to be near him. Delusion has consumed me.
