David Romanda
I wasn’t interested in what he was saying,
but I was nodding in agreement. Now and again,
I gave a grunt of approval. It was a real shame
they discontinued some model of some car
I can’t now recall. And suddenly he stopped talking.
You know what? he said. Fuck you. You could
care less about cars, you’re just humoring me.
That’s true, I said. I looked down at my shoes.
I’m sorry, I said. But I’m not sure why I said sorry.
|I guess I kind of respected him for calling me out.
His name was Bill or Barry. Or maybe it was Brett.