French Exit

by Patrick deWitt

Malcolm was standing across the street, watching her. His sunglasses were crooked; steam was rising from his damp shoulders. He was a pile of American garbage and she feared she would love him forever.

“Do you ever feel,” she asked, “that adulthood was thrust upon you at too young an age, and that you are still essentially a child mimicking the behaviors of the adults all around you in hopes they won’t discover the meager contents of your heart?”