Fiction: the steal

“How is Robert? Good. You have been dating for some time; I’m glad to see it is working out. … No, I’m not being sarcastic, you read too much into my lines. … No, I never said I did not like him.

But now that you bring it up, surely you notice he’s more abbrasive than originally believed. He is downright curt with you. When among our friends, he buries his eyes into his phone, snorts and pulls at his shirt unconsciously. He interrupts you, running over your sentences like a slow bumbling tractor pushing mounds of unfunny jokes. Those awful jokes are verbal shivs, stuck further into the gut of the room with each lonely, unshared guffaw. He is a fair skinned Shrek, but without even an ogre’s charisma. He’s a LAWYER, for crying out loud. You can do better.

Also, I think he might be cross-eyed.”

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