he takes the clothes I was wearing and walks over to the garbage, chucking them inside almost violently. I’m a little taken aback by the level of aggression he just showed those clothes, and I watch him with concern as he comes back to check the temperature of the water. “Were they talking shit to you or something?” I ask after a beat, too curious to let it go. I mean, I did almost get in a fight with a drawer knob earlier, who am I to judge a sweatshirt beat down?
