Roomie bro over, the penultimate night of the lease. To see the spot off.

And nab a couple things of his I’d found, while clearing out the basement, from back when we were roomies.

An old bike he’d started fixing up, then abandoned when he couldn’t find a part he needed. He thought he wouldn’t be able to find the part. Only he had. So was tryna fix it up now.

Trinkets from the era preceding ours, when his ex still lived here.

An ornamental animal tusk, a crystal, a peacock feather.

These roomie bro, without hesitation, donated to the sidewalk.

Us doin an end-of-an-era thing, reminiscing on old times.

This was a thing, a vibe. So I wasn’t tryna commandeer his bandwidth rehashing my recent thing with N.

With what N had recently said.

I was pretty sure I wasn’t an MRA misogynist, and didn’t need roomie bro to tell me I wasn’t.

But then the convo flagged a sec, and roomie bro still seemed up to hang. Like I could tell him anything. Like he wasn’t tryna be anywhere, do anything, anytime soon.

I proposed we go out onto the stoop to smoke. That way, I could broach what had happened without making it a whole thing.

Out on the stoop, I was gonna say something like,

All I did was go up to M after the show. Say Hi.

Since she happened to be there also, probably had tix from before Z, N’s bro, abruptly cut her off last week.

Since she saw me see her and beckoned me over.

And, y’know, she’s the homie.

This roomie bro woulda understood, since he’d just, last weekend, gone camping with M and other mutual gal-pal homies of theirs. Roomie bro and M themselves homies. From around town.

Because, I mean, what was I supposed to do, I woulda continued. Ignore her? Just bc Z broke up with her?

But then when Z and N and N’s lady O—whom I came to the show with—came out and saw me talking to her.

When they then came over.

Z ventured a sheepish Hi.

M ignored him completely.

Like continuing to look at me, smiling uncomfortably, and going ANYway, what were you saying?

Which. A bummer. Sure.

But understandable.

Z standing there shifting, looking shook.

Like the wheels turning, unable to grasp why that reaction.

Then we’re leaving, and O goes What’s wrong with you? Why would you ever even think about talking to her?

To which I, joke-y but defensive, went Sorry! Sorry I didn’t adhere completely to ‘bros over hoes.’

This shocked O. She went Why would you even say that. That’s so sexist.

I said I’M not saying that. YOU are!

What you just said implied that. Demonstrated that concept, ‘bros over hoes.’