They say that the truest definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result.
It is the first thing that goes through my head when I turn the corner and see Jimmy bent over the open hood of his car. Because, although I know that I should call him a tow truck, I also know that I’m not going to. Instead, I offer him a ride home. And I know that I shouldn’t get out of the car when we pull up in front of his house, but I do. Then I’m walking with him down the pathway, for reasons even I don’t know—it’s not like he needs an escort to the door—and we’re close enough that when he stops and looks up at me, I can smell the fabric softener on his clothes. I don’t know what I should say to him, he’s just standing there with one hand on the doorknob, lookin
