Chapter 49The other furiously worked his thumbs, just like his agile legs, when they flared and swung around the pommel horse he was allegedly hung like. Outdoor air was supposed to help him think. The dreary London morning, barely dawn, just made things more depressing.
I guess timing is everything.
Sometimes they even wrote alike.
And ours sort of sucks.
I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, Shrimpy. Feelings I can’t get to go away. f**k that word—“feelings”—I f*****g love you, man. And it sucks that it don’t even matter anymore. Call me an i***t. Call me an asshole. I’ve earned it, for all the s**t, but I can’t be—I can’t just be your friend. I can’t hang in the background and watch someone else have what I want. I did that before, and it rips me up and makes me do stupid stuff
