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t w e n t y - s i x : it was you
“I think you missed the exit,” I whine. We’ve been on the road for at least 40 minutes.
“I know the way to my friend—and co-worker’s—house, thank you very much,” Don smizes.
I roll my eyes. “Would you rather be wrong or late?”
She huffs and takes the nearest exit, while I refresh the navigation. Eventually, we end up in Stevie’s neighborhood in some obscure town in New Jersey.
As soon as we park in front of the house, the door swings open, but it’s Stevie instead of his brother. They’re roommates.
“H-Hey, Don. Gen,” he smiles gingerly.
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