The finality with which I left had nothing to do with anger. . . .
Panty Parade / Off Go the Panties
. . . . If I had been pissed off, I would have told Panther a thing or two. Tears would have been shed. The door slammed. The thing about being angry is that it’s a sign you care. And the moment I decided to pack up my dog and slip out of his house, I understood two things: There would be no going back and I certainly didn’t care.
Panther’s invitation for me to come over seemed sweet. He called instead of text and genuinely seemed to want to see me. It took me some time to get there, and in the process I got lost and forgot to swing by the liquor store. I didn’t really think anything of it, but Panther really wanted a beer and he had no intention of paying.