“I had gone to see her in Montreal just as soon as she’d moved there. That was late August. Twenty hours’ worth of Greyhound each way, and it was worth it: to be alone with her in a strange city (the Paris of Canada), to only know each other, to smoke Player’s with pictures of cancer or black heart on the packages. To stick our heads out onto the fire escape, to make dinner in her kitchenette, to drink liquor and have wild fucking arguments about different things—God, Oasis, my insufferable arrogance—whatever she felt like. We would get to screaming at one another, then fuck and sleep like young wolves in a shoe box. It was like a dream. And like in dreams I didn’t get to stay. And neither did she. Something to do with money. She dropped out and moved back to Elba. She rented an apartment and got a job at Giant Eagle. She was waiting for spring semester to start up at the local school.”
Nico Walker, Cherry

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