wanna watch your show while we eat?” he asked. After we’d finished eating pizza the night before, he’d stuck around to stream a couple of old episodes of House. He was a shitty TV companion. He didn’t binge the way I did, so he had questions. A lot of them. But he also made a lot of jokes. He made interesting commentary. He made popcorn—and not the microwaved kind. He’d run home to get the kernels that cooked on the stove. I could forgive talking through the episodes if good snacks were involved. At my nod, he gave me a cool, badass one of his own. “I’ll be over in ten.” As he returned to his
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