“No, I don’t. You’re letting a bad day run you. You’re not some rookie who’s gotten slammed for the first time. Christ, Tommy, we’re veterans, we know how things go, and the solution isn’t fucking behind some dry cleaners. Pull up your pants and let’s go home.”
I hate this. It tears me up for anything to come between us, more so when it’s me, but our time together is so limited I can’t bear to waste it like this. I don’t want to ream Tommy, I want to love him. I want him in bed. I want the real us. I go up the steps and out the passageway and it’s only when I’m on the street that I realize I don’t know the way back to his apartment. I cross and lean against a lamppost to wait for him.