We stop in the middle of the sidewalk, again, for a fourth time, start, stop, start, stop, start, stop, start, stop as she fails to light and keep her joint lit. Ben and Nadia are ahead but stop and wait for us. I’m close behind them having given up on her too and the three of us stop and wait for her. When she catches up, we resume, and she and I walk apart in silence. I move up ahead a bit and try to brush the back of her hand with mine as I walk next to her for a few seconds. Nothing. No reaction at all. She doesn’t care enough to be repulsed. Maybe that diver on TV got to her. Maybe she thinks he’s the one for her and can do her no wrong. Maybe he’s the man for her. I sure as hell am not. I know I will do her wrong. I was the first to admit it to when we first met. And here we are.

Nadia and Ben continue walking at a much faster pace just talking without a care in the world up ahead. Ashley walks slightly ahead of me. We are all in the speed walking Olympics in London right now, in a way, except just down Motor Avenue. I flip my hand over and try brushing her palm with a finger or two… Oh. See, now evidently that gets her repulsed at the moment. At first she keeps it there from the shock perhaps, but suddenly, she pulls her hand away from mine down there in a big way and gives me that shocked horrorshow trite ew face as she speeds up for a second and then continues walking at the same pace.

I’m starting to think the only facial expression she has is the one you make when you smell shit in the air.

“What is wrong with you?” she suddenly asks me with that utter disdain. I am shocked.

“Uhh Me?”

“Yeah! Why are you acting like this?”

Did I miss something?

“Wait… Acting like what?”

“Like THIS!”

“Wait a minute… how dare you I’m the one acting like something?? YOU’RE the one who’s…”

But her face is blank. Defiantly blank. She’s back in the nuthouse without the meds again.

“Ok. Wow. You’re just weirding me out right now” I say with the guffaw.


“Because I seriously have no idea what’s going on right now. You look like you could cut balls without remorse or sorrow or understanding or humanity right now hahaha I dunno.”

A long beat.

“What’s wrong? What did I do that was so wrong that you’re this pissed?”

She shakes her head and takes a drag on the joint. It’s out. Flick flick flick with the lighter and it lights. She pulls deeply and holds. Then again. She doesn’t pass. And that’s also my weed you rude little …

“You’re just acting like an asshole.”

I try to compose myself.

“How.” I’m enunciating each of my letters now.

“How?! Think!” She pokes her own head hard hard with her own damn finger doing the think-think-think 3 times thing.

“No you little asshole! YOU think and YOU tell me, what did I say? Huh? Because I can’t guess what you’ve been pissed about for the last hour! Just like every other hour out of every other 3-4 hours that I see you.”

She’s probably offended because I called her an asshole. Even though I added the “little” there. Which is true. She does have a little asshole and I did not meant to imply that she has a big asshole. Because she doesn’t. She has a really small asshole that I can’t even fit into. And it’s not about the size of her asshole anyway. It’s about the endearment of that asshole. And all assholes are endearing, this much is universal. So how long can one stand being with a particular asshole before becoming an asshole themselves? Or get stopped up, clogged up, constipated by letting the other asshole play General with you.

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