“Look up at the stars,” she said. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
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“They’re just balls of burning gas,” I lectured, “God lights his farts.”
She hit me in the arm. “Don’t be a dick. Just look at them.”
Reluctantly, I cast my gaze upward. It was a clear night, far from the city. It seemed like there wasn’t an inch of sky that wasn’t covered in stars. I wasn’t impressed.
“Yeah, so? It’s a bunch of lights. Big fuckin’ deal.”
“You can tell a lot about a person by what they see in the sky,” she said.
“Huh,” I responded. “Don’t you think that’s just a little bit cliché?”
“Don’t be a dick!” She hit me in the arm again. I could feel my humerus start to bruise. “It’s like an ink splot test. You look at the stars and the constellations you see reflect your inner hopes and desires. See those stars over there?” She pointed up, as if I could really tell which of the thousands upon thousands of stars she was gesturing towards. “Those stars look like the kitten I found when I was three. I named him ‘Mr. Mittens.’”
“Oh,” I said, catching on. “In that case, those three stars right there make a vagina. Those other ones above them are a pair of tits.”
She hit me again, in the same spot. “I said don’t be a dick! I’m trying to have a real conversation here and all you can do is act like a dick!”
I shrugged, as much from the pain in my arm as from indecision over what to say.
“You know what?” she said. “You are completely incapable of acting like a decent human being, even for 5 fucking minutes.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrugged again. “I’ll be sure to mention that when I write all this down later.”
She never spoke to me again.