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I clove the clove in half, releasing the scent into the scene, making you sneeze. Oh, but wasn’t wordplay fun but anyway. Don’t worry, I’m just messing with you.

That’s not really how the story goes. The story goes like this:

Once upon a time, I hit you with my car. Oops. Maybe you shouldn’t have been running down the street in the dark with dark clothes on. Luckily for you, I was only driving like ten miles an hour, because I was going down my new street for the first time, and wasn’t entirely confident I could find my own damn house in the dark.



But you were in the middle of the goddamned street and I didn’t see you until it was too late and I slammed on the brakes and hit you just a little. Which you may have deserved, because you turned out to be the most entertaining kind of bastard and also my first friend.

And cloves did actually eventually come into play, because you were allergic and my mom was half in love with those oranges with cloves in them Christmas ornaments that you made in like kindergarten or whatever but this was in the end of the summer, and I was slightly high because that’s what I did back when I was friendless and didn’t have anything to do because school hadn’t started yet.

Anyway, I dragged your sorry runner’s ass off the road and stuck you in the back of my car and you were making all kinds of whiny baby noises like “Who the fuck are you? Let me out of your car, you crazy bitch!” But I was just all, “Shut up, I hit you with my goddamn car. Just shut up.”

So yeah, this may have not been my most shining moment. But we became friends out of it, anyway, so I guess that all turned out okay. You put me on the straight and narrow, too, because you were all into studying and shit. I got my first A because you were in my French class.

I like to think that I’m not stupid, but I know at least that I’m lazy as fuck, which I don’t consider a failing, really. I think it’s more of an attribute. It shapes my character. This sounds like crazy fucking rambling. Which sort of makes sense because I was definitely into crazy fucking rambling the time I hit you with my car.

So yeah, that was all good times. You started freaking out, like I was kidnapping you or some other shit. Which was nonsense, of course. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, make sure you didn’t have a concussion or anything. Which I guess you didn’t.

Sorry, baby.

Remember the time you accidentally stabbed me through the hand? You took me to the hospital. Maybe I should have taken you to the hospital. Instead I dragged you through my front door and even though you were bleeding massively through the leg, my dad took one look at my hair in disarray and asked if the boy had done something not nice at all.