The man in the photograph was an older, fatter image of the man I’d shared every cigarette break with. Oh, I’d managed to change a few things—the slightly more narrowed eyes, thinner lips, thicker hair. But it was him, all right. All this time, I’d been haunted by the man I hated most on the world, and I hadn’t merely conjured him with my broken mind. I befriended him, too. “I feel sick,” I said. “All those conversations with… with Alfie. They were all in my mind.”
i did NOT see that coming
