I’d like to tell you I have my s**t together. That I have it all figured out.
IBut if you saw me standing here right now, on the sidewalk in my boxer briefs—for God and everyone to see—you’d know I’m totally full of s**t.
My now ex-girlfriend stands on the balcony of her second-floor apartment, glaring down at me, dressed only in a peach-colored silk robe. Her hair is loose and her face is red with anger, but there are no tears.
ex“You bastard!” Samantha cries out and throws another armful of my clothing over the balcony. One of my socks gets stuck on a tree branch.
I grab my T-shirt from the sidewalk and tug it on. It’s May, but it’s still chilly in the mornings, and the cool air nips at my bare skin.
My shoes are thrown down next—one at a time. One bounces into the street, and I wai
