Shit Balls and Sharpie

I left work early today after a phone call from my doctor. I made some calls myself to a few people. As per usual, Zach came in clutch.

Me: I mean… Yikes.

Zach: That’s a nice way of putting it. This might warrant a “holy fucking shit balls,” Jess.

Me: Thanks, asshole.

Zach: Eh, some things change. You and me? We’re constants. I’ll Sharpie your face in every bathroom stall to keep you around. I can look at you while I shit, and it don’t get much realer than that, sweetness. Now dry your eyeballs. You might look cute when you’re pissed, but you look damned pathetic when you’re belly achin’… stop that shit.

He turned away to look out the bar’s window.

I’m pretty sure I saw tears welling in his eyes. Fuck, this shit is getting to real.

I ordered two more shots. They took the edge off and put a fire back in my belly. And then I went home from the bar to cry some more and write this post.

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