“Look, I gotta go. If you wanna talk, come over tomorrow. Happy to fill you in on how Brad fucked up.” And then he’s gone, the heavy metal door clicking behind him, and I’m standing in the stairwell, in my pajamas that show way too much ass, holding a bakery box of cookies. I go upstairs in a daze, eat half the cookies, and then cry myself to sleep, wondering how what seemed so promising is already falling apart.
