Roughing It

I just agreed to room with Ski in a little cabin up at the Russian River for a three-day retreat in May, after my original roommate backed out. One could call this fate working in mysterious ways, though I’m more inclined to consider it just about the stupidest thing I’ve done in a long, long time. Talk about shooting yourself in the foot. Or trial by fire. Or something.

The heart, or is it the dick, knows no reason and why the fuck is that? If Darwin was right, we’re wasting a lot of time. Wait, I mean me. I’m wasting a lot of time and at this rate, my surname will never last. Oh this is so boring, and it won’t lead us anywhere. I was sitting on the porch steps waiting. You walked up and the boys whispered isn’t he sexy in my ear. I thought I had guts. You kissed my cheek. They flirted and you were struck dumb. Come on, I said, letting them watch us walk off together, a wrong impression masquerading as real.

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