“Well there are parts where you seem sorta entitled. Like when you steal the knife from the flea market in the Ozarks, for example.”

“Well yeah,” I said. “I was entitled—brash, clueless, self-satisfied—throughout. That’s sort of the point of why I ended up stopping, innit.”

“And then there are all the letters at the end,” she said. “Thinking we cut those…”

“Cut? The letters?!”

“Oh and finally. The, uh…rape-y parts.”

“Rape-y parts?”

“Well there’s the time you…y’know…masturbate in the shower of that family who hosted you in Kansas. With the underage, Miss Kansas daughter.”

“Well yeah, that was a precautionary—a preemptive—jerk-off, since walking and sleeping out on highways, under bridges, in cemeteries—not jerking it—for months really does make you a savage, and the whole point is to look at those impulses, to understand where they come from, that we all have em, so that they don’t manifest in real life—that’s all that matters, the real life actions, those that have consequences for others—”

“And again, when you say you were so full of lust when you finally saw R on day 100 that you…felt like you were going to…enter her whether she wanted you to or not?”

“Well, in my defense, she did want me to—”

“A little rape-y!”

Oh jeez.

R was ex bae.

Shit was getting complicated.

I should have seen everything that was to come coming, then and there.

I should have thanked her for her generosity, for reading the whole thing.

For the encouragement.

And then said: But this obviously won’t work. There are way too many overlaps.

Like: This book is a result of me being so fucked up about ex bae; things are fucked between me and ex bae bc I cheated on her, with you; so now you wanna help me edit (and mostly nix) all the parts about ex bae; not to mention—I’m still definitely tryna enter you! I mean, only if you want me to. Obviously.

Just. Yeah. No.

Was what I shoulda said.

But shouldacouldawouldabruh.

“Y’know. OK. Let’s work on it,” was what I actually said.

•

Had to hit all kinds of detours, around the protest, to get to the drop-off.

Ninety-plus out and stupid humid.

Detours aside, just getting down the roads.

Walnut mazelike, how gridlocked. Even with the bike.

Engine exhaust stagnant, inhaling it unavoidable; horns honking louder than the fanny-pack Bluetooth; diesel grumbles groundshaking.

•

Back upstairs, side bae had finished the entire SNL episode.

She went Yay omg amazing! When I told her ‘my book might be dropping.’

It felt like she got a hard-on bc I said that.

Which, who was I kidding, was why I said it.