Sometimes they fight. Blaring, roaring, angry, terrible fights. They say that they hate one another.
“I never want to see you again!” She screams.
And then he leaves, because he believes her, and because a part of him feels the same way. He goes out to his favorite bar, the one he always goes to after they fight.
“A beer.” He says to the pretty bartender who takes his order. “Sure thing,” she answers and slides over an uncapped John Adams. She knows his poison.
She cries. She’s surrounded by the mess they made, the fight they had. Shattered glass and water litter the slippery, tiled floor. She doesn’t care. She never really cares. Her butter pecan ice cream and CSI: NY are keeping her sane. But the tears keep coming, liquidating the creamy frozen dairy treat with salty droplets.
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