“You’re never gonna look at me the same?—
“I know it. I can’t?—”
He stops mid-sentence.
And then his shoulders drop,
his chest caves in, giving up.
Whatever was holding him up
is now walking away,
leaving him standing here, alone.
Helpless. Vulnerable. Exposed.
“Triple digits.”
He says it,
and it’s a gunshot in my chest.
And then I’m falling.
Fast.
Through the floor.
It's two words echoing
andechoing.
Two words, in an empty room.
“Triple digits,” I repeat, squinting at him.
“You saying—what? A hundred? One-fifty?
“What’re we even talking?”
He drags a hand across his mouth.
“I don’t fuckin’ know?—”
His eyes are everywhere but on me.
He grips his neck to keep himself from falling apart.
“Three. Three-fifty. Maybe.
“I didn’t keep count.
“I just—I just fuckin’ did it.”
Three.
Three-fifty.
