Don’t ever

He didn’t know what came next, but probably neither did she.

“Should I get my stuff?” he asked.

“You don’t have to tonight.”

She set the tape down on the table, slid it over to him.

He’d made it for her, so he slid it back.

“You should have it.” she said.

She didn’t want it was what she meant.

“It’s got Blues Traveler on it. I know you love Blues Traveler.”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

She’d told him so many things, seems some weren’t true. He wondered which.

“I don’t.”

“Never?”

“No.”

He took the mix tape, put it in his pocket.

She thanked him, but wasn’t specific about what or why.

Then she showed him the door.

“I’ll miss you.” she said.

“Only cause you’re throwing me out.”

She shut the door and he heard her lock it.

He looked at his hands, didn’t know what to do with himself.

Decided on hitting the bar.

“Don’t ever love anyone.” he said to the cat, licking itself on the decretive table beside the elevators.

The cat didn’t seem to notice.

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