A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Sanity

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Sanity

“You don’t want to go back?” Adam asked. The coffee shop lights reflected off the silver point jutting out of his left eyebrows. His fingers skittered across the Mylar countertop, the word FATE on their backs dancing. Xue couldn’t tell it the letters were prison tats. How did people tell the difference anyway?

“I don’t know that there’s anything to go back to,” she said, and he snorted.

“Really? None of this shit convinced you?” He shook his shaved head. “Never figured you for a hard sell.” Xue wondered if he’d shaved it, or they’d done it for him. She could see all the odd bumps on his skull beneath the blonde fuzz that was left.

“I don’t want to be crazy.”

“Xue, honey, if you’re saying that, things are either real, or you’re too fucking late.” He grinned. “So which do you want it to be?”

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