It was noon when she called him. He needed to pick her up at 7:30, and afterward, they planned to visit the same place they always frequented, a simple and peculiar bar located on the corner of those old streets near downtown. It wasn’t the finest establishment in town, and the service was occasionally inefficient. Yet, it was likely the memories that kept him attached to such an unremarkable spot. They always chose the same table to sit at, and if it wasn’t available, they would wait for it to free up before settling in.
— Again?
— No! I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, are we good?
— Of course. You know what? After all these years of self-awareness and introspection, I’ve realized I’m still a manipulative piece of shit.
— No shit, Sherlock.
— I’m serious.
— Yes, kind of. But I feel comfortable when I’m with you.
— Even after all that shit? I mean, just when I thought I’d finally become a mature, honest human being, it turns out I’m not. I’m still hurting people.
— You’re not hurting me. Probably the other girls, but not me. I understand your nature.
— That’s the problem. It’s not "my nature." That’s bullshit. It’s just being an asshole.
— I know both sides of you, the dark one and the lovely one.
— There’s no lovely side.
— That’s what you think. It’s fine. I still want to hang out with you, grab some beers, talk about dumb, crazy things, and then end up… you know, at my place.
— uhmm
— What? The way you pull my hair makes it obvious you like it. Speaking of it, are you free tonight? Hahaha.
— Stop it.
— The only part I don’t like that much is when you leave.
— See what I mean?
— I’m just messing around! Hahaha.
— I know exactly how this will end.
— Me too. Sooner or later, I’ll end up being added to that list.
— Yes, you will end up leaving. I don’t know when, but you will. You will put yourself on that "list".