He walks in and I'm listening to my latest obsession, Joni Mitchell. He rolls his eyes. "God, I hate her. She grates on me." I love that about Adam. No problem with opinions, that's for damn sure.
I'm going to miss that motherfucker this weekend. It's a good thing.
Thinking about it, I know why he doesn't like Joni Mitchell. He's not like me, ruminating about the past, heavy sighs, the what-ifs. He lives in the present.
What would that be like?
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