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“Look, I don’t know what cats allow collars around their necks, but Menace”—he jabbed a finger in the animal’s direction—“isn’t one of them. She’d probably pretend to like it for an hour and then I’d wake up to find a death threat written in blood on my bathroom mirror, signed with a paw print.”
“And when I look at you, I swear I have. Existed just for you all this time. It feels like I have.”
“I don’t acknowledge salads. I see nothing.”
“You’re such a bozo.” “I’m your bozo.”
“She’s only been gone for a little while and I already miss her so much—” “August, this is getting weird.”
There was only her. She was all he needed to survive and the truth of that, his truth, came pouring out.
