Thirty three years old. Going bald -or so I believe-; hence, the dignified recently shaved head. Hangovers are the worst. Then, no more drinking. Fucked up back. Chiropractor to the rescue. Skinny, but with a beer belly. Gym 3 or 4 times a week. Eating salad. Being healthier. Trying to sleep more. Still failing at it. Still trying, anyways.
“What are we doing here, exactly?” I asked M.
“What are we?”
“Friends… I think,” M replied.
“Do you cuddle with all your friends?” I asked. Holding her, smelling her hair, both laying on her bed.
She was silent for a few seconds, then replied “Not really.” We kept cuddling for another hour or so. Then I went to a dinner party. Got there two hours late.
Going bald and all that crap. Thirty three years old. Yet, acting like a borderline angry teenager on drugs. Fucking hell.