mean, you know me, man. I don’t believe in that true love bullshit, okay?” He shakes his head. “That fucking Brontë, Shakespearean soulmates shit, I think it’s a thing we say to girls to get laid… But whatever you and Parks have, it’s what those fuckwits were writing about.” I glance at him. “By ‘fuckwits’ you mean Shakespeare and Brontë?” “Yeah.” He nods. “Right.”
