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“For fuck’s sake, Andrew. Is there anything in this scenario that feels heterosexual or well-adjusted to you?”
He couldn’t think of a single explanation that was going to make this seem reasonable. The true answer didn’t seem like the smartest: my best friend is dead, and I’m out of my fucking mind.
Nights that felt open with possibility, weather for a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, cigarettes and bourbon to fight off the hint of winter rolling in from the north.
Given the shock of surviving the reprisal of all his worst dreams, he felt ungrateful for wishing that he’d died.
