After being kicked out of our third bar that night, Michael and I drove home in frustrated silence. This had been happening to us a lot lately.
“God! All of the girls at that place were total bitches,” Michael whined.
“Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t always wear the mask,” I said.
“Oh yeah that was it,” said Michael sarcastically.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just think you should’ve talked about your job more. That was really working well.”
In a nasally voice, Michael began to imitate me. “Hey, look at me! I fix computers all day! I hate it when they run out of diet coke in the kitchen because then I have to go downstairs and buy a diet coke! Oh no!”
“Shut up, Michael!” I screamed. “I don’t sound like that!”
I wanted to hit him at that moment, but then I remembered Michael was a violent, bloodthirsty psychopath and he might burn my face off with a road flare.
“I want to go to Taco Bell,” said Michael.
