Every sunday we would lie together. We’d be nursing our hangovers from the night before with a orange juice and just a bit of vodka to hurry the process. It was in the time before our lifestyle got to be a little out of control, before the drug use got to be a little more then strictly recreational; before the fighting. But we’d just lie there holding each other and smoking the occasional cigarette and dozing off from time to time. I don’t think you could really call us lovers, just friends who happened to fuck on a regular basis. I never thought I was quite good enough because he would tend to have a wandering eye. But we were comfortable, and it worked for awhile. Eventually, I just had to leave. It wasn’t the romance I needed, he wasn’t the one.
