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“Being with you can feel that way.” He laughed, his voice darkly wondrous. “Like I’m wearing a dead man’s mask.”
Vomits.
My phone lit up between us, a parallelogram of light.
It's just a phone. You don't have to be so pretentious.
swirling the pan with garlic the color of toast—he
"the color of toast"??? One of the weirdest desciptors I've ever seen.
“Well,” I said, after a long pause. “Consider it reparations.” For a second, Wyman just stared at me. Then he laughed; a cruel, hysterical crackle. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? Reparations. Reparations for what?” “For patriarchal oppression.”
pretentiousssssss
