I went up the stairs to the street. The air was humid. She was sharing a cigarette.
She said, “This is Dane.” Her voice was flat. I immediately knew what was what and what was no longer.
She looked anywhere but at me, hunched in a denim jacket that she never buttoned up, always a tight T shirt and the same jeans that I had struggled with on her bed. She blew smoke and grinned at Dane. I couldn’t walk away because love was as stupid as I was.