I always think about not answering, but sometimes curiosity or guilt is enough to counteract my instinct towards self-preservation. This instance, I thought very quickly: why not? It's valentines day and I might be soon visiting, plus I am sad about my own love failures...

In this instance, my friend was dismal and muted, having fallen off her bike, having lost her love, having lost her sanity, having lost her assurance, having lost her sense of what she might say. It is very dismal, the conversation. It makes me wonder again why people bother having conversations.

"I think," I tell my mom, "I will stab my earballs out if I have to hear one more time about Marian."

Medium-sized pause.

"Paybacks are hell, aren't they?" I add.

"Yes, I think they are," she says, articulated and punctured at the ends of each corner of the font.

I swear to god... no, I don't really. But then again, I do.