It’s good and bad, you know. I like that his parents are dead but he’s always going on about it. Not them exactly, just general parentness, I guess, admiring people’s kids and shit. Cooing, he sorta coos, which is gross. Also, the situation makes him kinda needy, nesty, but that’s nice in its way, I kinda like it, the abandonment thing. Hell, my parents weren’t around enough to do me any real damage, it always seemed weird to get worked up over something that wasn’t there. Anyway, I really like this one, I could see us having history together.
Posters and stickers mark the walls in history, if I run my hands across them they will tell me a story in the way of Parisian cobblestones. The time before me is fascinating. I try to picture the establishment of things, the scope becomes so vast as to be vague. My eyes start to hurt from looking into it. I squint, breathe, and wonder briefly how to proceed. Caleb looks at my profile with defiant silence and scratches his balls. Because I’ve noticed, I don’t say anything. I drink my water and nod, agreeing with all that has happened.