And he doesn’t seem that interested in telling me why he spent the night on my porch in the rain. After a while, I say, “You need to text Weezie.” “Fine.” He grabs his phone and types a few words. “Happy?” “I was, about five minutes ago. In fact, I was ecstatic about today. But then I find a squatter on my porch and I’m worried I might have to call the cops and have a bunch of cars on my lawn again.” “What were you going to do today?” “Write.” “Another depressing love story where there’s no love?” “No.”
