Have you got clothes that you can move in?” “You’ve been through all my stuff. You know I do.” “Ah, but you see, I’m allowing you the polite fiction of my not knowing what your underthings look like.
We were standing in the middle of the bone yard, and the air smelled like a mix of popcorn, diesel fumes, and bonfire, and that was exactly right; that was what every first kiss should smell like.