“What’s up?”
Too fake.
“Kit? It’s Dillion, you know, from the clothesline across the alley.”
Too lame.
“Yo, Kit. How’s it hanging?”
My cleverness knew no bounds.
In the end, once I actually dialed his number, “Hi, Kit. It’s Dillon. Is it too late? Too early?” was the best I could do. Now one in the morning, nerves and anticipation were the only things keeping me awake.
“Dillon. Hey. No. I’m so wound up when I come in, I can’t even think about crawling into bed until at least six or seven. You’re an early bird.”
He noticed.
“Yeah. I’m up with the squirrels.”
Kit chuckled. “All this time, I thought the expression was ‘up with the birds.’”
“Not around here. What do you do?” I curled my leg up under me on the patio chair and wrapped my open hoodie around my bare chest and gut. A nip
