Beau is sitting across the room from me, in the lounge area in the corner. When I look up from my laptop, casually of course, I have an unobstructed view. He is with a man, which relieves me. I saw on his Instagram that he was at the Big Sleep last night with that Vagablonde girl. I am starting to feel threatened by all these blondes who look nothing like me. I stalked Vagablonde’s Instagram, and I’m pretty sure she is a Leo—cocky as hell, a true solipsist.

I am working on my Thanksgiving listicle, but it is hard to focus. I am mostly just writing mean things about Leos. Are Leos gravy? A gross goo ruining all your food? Are they jello salad? Just overly accessorized?

I keep zoning out and drawing knives and swords beside my notes. Occasionally I look up at Beau. He and the man he is with keep laughing hysterically. I wonder what’s so fucking funny. I’ve never laughed that much in my life. I don’t have a great sense of humor. Everyone says my memes and my readings and my articles are funny, but I’m not trying to be funny. Maybe I am good at things only when I’m not trying. Maybe if I’d tried less hard to be an actress I would have gotten a role. I wonder if Beau has any Hollywood connections The man he is with looks like a power player. Also a Leo, probably. Beau is surrounded by Leos, and I’m jealous of all of them.

Beau looks up and we make eye contact, for a brief second, and shivers go down my entire spine. I bring my pen to my notebook and draw little droplets of blood trickling from a sword.

When I look up again, Beau is on the phone and heading out the door. I try not to stare at his body as it moves, his torso slithering like a snake’s. I feel an intense jolt in my abdomen, then return to my notepad, to the sword spurting blood.

Beau’s energy changes after the phone call. I wonder if he received bad news. I worry for him. I hope his family is okay. They are probably thousands of miles away, in New York, London, or Paris. But they are rich and therefore have the resources to handle anything.

Beau and his friend keep going into the bathroom, maybe because they are drinking so much orange juice. At first I think they are drinking mimosas, but then I decide Beau is too tasteful to drink so early in the day. He is just passionate about vitamin C. Or maybe he is worried about scurvy.

Sadness hits my gut when the boys ask for the check. I was feeling so at peace, casually catching glimpses of Beau’s sculpted cheekbones and the little dimples that form when he smiles.