Page 383 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Now we’re on Route 17, and⁠—

I’m so fucking horny, this ache is two seconds from turning flesh-eating just to literally eat me out.

It’s all pretty hilarious.

Not Goodfella funny.

Not funny like a clown.

More like

getting-played-by-a-man-whose-sidepiece-is-saved-under-a-hole-emoji

funny.

More like

my-stepfather-called-me-an-addict-last-night-like-that’s-all-I’ll-ever-be

funny.

Or

I-signed-a-contract-that-says-I-have-to-tell-Andrew-when-I-need-tongue

funny.

Real funny, right?

Hahaha.

Yeah, they can all eat shit.

I’m not telling Andrew I need to come.

I’m taking the high road.

And I’m not masturbating like some fucking addict.

I’d rather sit here and suffer.

Andrew gets off 17 at Sheridan,

a few exits early.

The GPS yells at him.

Ignoring it,

he glances at the rearview mirror,

making a right on Waldwick.

The GPS reroutes.

I’m too stubborn to ask him what he’s doing. I pretend not to care and glance out the window, where a gas station slides by, surrounded by mounds of dirty snow.

Andrew erratically taps the steering wheel, eyes jumping to the rearview every three seconds.