fajita steam, chips, sticky from margarita mix, but weirdly I wouldn’t have it any other way. And really, this smell is comforting. I take a whiff of my shirt, and it reminds me of being little, waiting for my dad to come home on summer nights, and waking up to him carrying me to my bed. His shirts always smelled like the restaurant, and till this day still do, and still comfort me.
“And when you play guitar I listen to the strings buzz, the metal vibrates underneath your fingers. And when you crochet I feel mesmerized and proud, and I would say I love you, but saying it out loud is hard. So I won’t say it at all, and I won’t stay very long.”—