Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighteen
Friday.
This was the right idea.
Even though she’s gone, she’s not really gone, and that makes me happy.
Hail?
Chicken tikka mild. I drink half of his Taj Mahal and some water. The sky has cleared.
“It’s a great day to ruin someone’s senior night.”
“They’re crying right now, so it’s a good time to punch them in the face.”
I’m not convinced this wasn’t rigged. Note to self.
But really, we have come a long way. We’ve come a long way.
We stand outside under the stars and talk about emo bands and silent basketballs and a-ha moments. I hug her before she leaves. We don’t have any more of these left. One more practice. One more game.
