I pick up my laptop and walk outside, sit on a bench in front of the restaurant, and finish the sentence. Luckily, I can still pick up the Wi-Fi out here. I’m obsessive about finishing the tasks I start. It is my Virgo lilith, or, in medical terms, my OCD diagnosis. Either way, I can’t just leave a chart and pick it up later. I have to finish it.

I complete the sentence, tell her she is potentially a sex addict (lilith in Scorpio), remind her of my Venmo, and press send.

And when I look up, Thomas is exiting a black car with a group of girls. He is always surrounded by women.

“They kick you out?” he asks me.

“Do you have weed?” I ask.

Thomas makes me hang around for a bit with his dumb friends before he lets me hit his joint. We sit at a table in the corner, and everyone orders drinks. I loudly announce that I am broke, hoping someone will offer to buy me a soda, but no one does. So I just sip water and tap my foot and pray no one tries to talk to me.

“So, how do you know Thomas?” the girl on my right asks. She is dressed like the girls who work here—black athleisure, tiny gold hoop earrings, copper hair parted severely down the middle.

“We …” I pause, thinking. I was going to tell the truth, but I decide to lie instead to work on my acting skills. I did such an amazing job this morning. I am exercising now, I even noticed some muscle definition on my calves, so I may as well start auditioning again. “We worked together,” I say. “For a cannabis brand.”

“Cool,” the girl says. “What did you do for them?”

“I ran their social.” God this is boring. Socializing is so boring. Maybe I should just become an alcoholic like everyone else. “But I’m out of work right now and was hoping Thomas could spot me some bud.” I pause. “I need it for medical reasons.”

“Glaucoma?” she asks.

“Glaucoma? I’m twenty-nine.”

She laughs. “I don’t know. I just always hear that as being the medical reason for pot,” she says. “I don’t smoke it.”

“I can tell,” I say.

“Really? How?”

Like a thousand reasons pop into my head. She speaks too quickly. She clearly lacks originality. She thought a twenty- nine-year-old had glaucoma. But there is the most obvious one. “Because you called it pot.”

“I’m visiting from New York,” she says.

I know for a fact they don’t call weed “pot” in New York, because the Precious Starlets smoke it and call it “weed” like normal people. This girl is just a dumbass. This is exactly why I don’t socialize.

“That sucks you’re out of work,” she says. “I lost my job last year. It’s the worst.”