"You know you talk to yourself, right?"
She was cute. Almost too cute. It was hard to believe that she had killed my pet cat only last night.
"Yes. That's why you knew where to find my cat, right?"
"No, it was because you led me right to her." She stared at my face before spitting in it like a llama that's constipated in its head.
"My mixtape was on fire."
"That's what you said 2 chapters ago," she said.
"Then it burned down. And then... and then..."
"I guess we're never safe from sucking," she said, looking away at one of the old men in front of the store waiting for his wife who was probably getting a great sale on some crocs.
"You know, your mixtape backwards was evil. And my killing your pet cat backwards is actually me giving birth to a kitten."
"I don't get your point, but I bet it's deep." I sighed.
She sighed.
I sighed again.
She spit in my face like a head-constipated llama again.
Then she walked into the sunset, and I was sad.
It wasn't just my mixtape that was on fire.
So were my feet.
My cat's carcass.
My sole.
And my soul.