Randy straightened. “Well, anyway, I was thinking it would be fun to ask Carrie to help me do some web design, and I wanted to ask if you thought her stuff would translate well to a website.”

Megan scratched her face. “Yeah. It’d translate well to a website, if that’s all you’re thinking about. But, you could do this kind of stuff alone,” she said, gesturing at the magazine. “I mean, well, to me, the real hindrance in working with her—or anyone like her—would be the total hypocrisy of it all. Encouraging someone who considers herself to be a forerunning mind of our generation while all she’s doing is, essentially, coloring in the lines would make me, personally, want to fucking kill myself.”

Randy stared at her.

“What?” she said.

“I don’t see what Carrie does as hypocritical.”

“Oh, you used to agree with me. What, now that I’m applying the same idea to your precious darling Carrie, you don’t agree with me about how stupidly pretentious all of these graphic design assholes are, with their fucking letterpressed business cards with their Wordpress addresses on them? Playing around and being condescending about creative recycling and community-based whatever-the-fuck? Help me help you, Randy.”

Megan paused.

“I’m sure they all shampoo their pubes,” she said.

“I’m only talking about this one spread.”

“It’s hollow.”

“You know, that’s kind of what I do for a living.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it? I do web design for a living, and I like it. You’re talking about what I do. And, anyway, you buy organic produce.”

“Yeah, but I don’t kid myself that it’s a part of a movement I’m involved in. I know it’s just groceries. That self-important look in their eyes makes me puke.”

“Ok, so you don’t think I should work with her.”

“Do what you want, but I just think you or any fucking monkey with a reference image and a laptop could do what she does. I mean, all she really did was finish her homework. She’s not some kind of magic fairy genius.”

“Nobody thinks she’s a magic fairy genius,” said Randy.

“You say that now.”

“And why wouldn’t I want to work with someone who finished their homework? Or a magic fairy, for that matter?”

Not having a direct answer to this, Megan began the painful process of shutting the fuck up. The psychological resistance she felt was intense enough to have a physical counterpart, which was a grating feeling in the center of her chest.

“No, you’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. I guess I just had a bad day. I don’t know why I’m ranting.”

She sat on the floor at Randy’s feet and put her head in his lap.

“How’s your butt?” he asked.

“Itchy.”

“How’s your head?”

“Horrible.”

“How was your day?”

“Uuuunnnnghghg. You know how when you drink a lot, the next morning you usually feel depressed? Just, like, chemically, because your body’s in withdrawal?”

“Well . . . yeah.”