Saints Don't Moan
I asked, offended by his remarks.
“No, no, of course not,” he responded. I sighed in relief. “You’re more like a broken clock type of funny.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“You’re only funny twice a month,” he laughed as his punch line hit.
“You know what else is funny? You sleeping outside tonight because there’s no one to let you in.” I said, jabbing at the fact that he would be standing outside because I was not around.
“I have a spare key, Einstein, and hotels?” He responded, laughing at my failed attempt to get him back.
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