blahck

Continue

I still think back to the day when we were walking past the barbecue joint and on a hunch I accused you of always, compulsively, scoping each car's hood or tail for identification purposes and you admitted to it, that you'd always done it, as long as you could remember, and that you were shocked that I had guessed that that's what you were doing, and that it was right after your admission and your shock and your questioning of my hunch, that I told you that I thought we should stop seeing each other, that I knew it was rather disgusting and shallow on my part, but the fact that your eyes compulsively sought out car makes and models at the behest of your nervous soul somehow told me unequivocally that I just couldn't continue. And how this produced more shock and how you laughed in my face and called me an idiot and pointed out to me that my eyes without fail compulsively sought out the most beautiful woman in the environment, whether it was subway car or street or restaurant or anywhere at all, even if you were around and I tried to hide it, and wasn't it basically the same, weren't we in large part cars without drivers careening around specially-built tracks, and didn't I want to take back what I had just said, about not continuing, because it was so foolish and hypocritical? And how I did take it back, the majority of my unequivocal-ness reversed in a moment, and we continued.