Dana Schwartz

It was as if the other’s lips were the only place they’d ever belonged, and fate itself had brought them to this very moment, terrified and aching in a half-dug grave, just so the two of them could come together.

He was a fool. No, worse than a fool. He was a romantic fool.

Honestly, the nerve of him, barging in without warning, acting like I committed some sin for not wanting to promenade with him. What is a ‘promenade,’ anyway? Just walking slower than any natural human gait so you can show off a new outfit to people distracted by how badly they want to show off their new outfits. It’s a pointless exercise in self-absorption that doesn’t even work because everyone involved is too self-absorbed to provide the admiration their fellows are in such desperate need of. And as if Bernard would need to be circling around the Gardens like a show
pony to get people to notice his clothes; I swear, one could see that blue jacket from Glasgow. Ooof, just got it there.”