By a thread

“Can I get you a drink?” Rude Sex Hair was back.“I don’t know. Can you?” I shot back.“We’re fresh out of the blood of children, Satan. How about something that matches your personality?” She was saying the words nicely. Sweetly even.“I’ll have a—”“Unsweetened iced tea,” she filled in for me.Bitter. Boring. Bland.“Is this one of those places where you pay people to be assholes to you?” I asked my mother.“Oh, honey. I’m doing this for free.”

If there was one thing I hated more in this life than being wrong, it was not knowing what the hell I was doing in the first place.

It was fucking charming. That annoyed me.