The 7-Eleven

“First of all, your doctor sounds like someone I would punch in the face,” my best friend Katie said after hearing the story, “Secondly, you want to get another Slurpee? You look like you need it.”

“He’s not that bad and no, I’ll be puking red if I stay at this rate,” she took me to the local 7-Eleven, it’s a tradition we have. Whenever one of us is upset, the other one drives us to here. We get Slurpees and other junk food we want, then sit on the crappy tables out front.

“Psh, honey, he’s a greedy bastard. So was it awkward when you two were leaving?” She said taking a big slurp from her Slurpee.

“No, I ran out of there before Trevor got up.”

“Baby face, I’ve never liked the idea of Trev and you in counseling— makes you seem old,” she sighed, “but y’all are married, so what can you do?”

“We’re only in it because of our parents.”

“That boy loves you, hon,” she passed me the chips, “They are the perfect thing to absorb the crap you just drank.”

“I know he does,” eating one, “I wonder what he’s doing.”

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