Overheard Voices

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HER: Because, Ted. If I had an air conditioning. I wouldn’t have trouble sleeping.
HIM: Did I break your air conditioning?
HER: No.
HIM: Did I drop your air conditioning?
HER: No, but-
HIM: I have never laid a finger on your air conditioning.
HER: I’m not blaming you for why it’s broken. I’m saying it’s hot. I can’t sleep. And when you ask if I want to go to hear some concert later, “‘Bad Lands’ is playing.”
HIM: I don’t speak like that.
HER: “They’re the shit…”
HIM: What’s, ‘Bad Lands?’ That’s a made up name-
HER: “They do percussion and bass and guitar.”
HIM: I don’t speak like that. I don’t sound like that.
HER: I really couldn’t give a fuck about sweating outside to some assholes playing music.
HIM: I play music.
HER: Good. Good. How’s that working out?

At this point there was a long pause where the girl drank her bottle of seltzer and the man continued staring at her then looked out the window at an angle still not sure how to react to this, then looked around the room and wound up looking directly into my eyes. He was looking for acceptance. For the, “can you believe this bitch,” kinda confirmation. Man to man kinda shit. I, however, quickly looked down to the left, chewed my inner lip, and pretended to think of something I couldn’t remember. Fuck him, why is she any crazier for talking like that, than he is by being with her.

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