Before you start asking, yes, “By” is short for Byron. I didn’t pick the name so leave me alone.

“The Shell? Really?” I responded, half to myself, definitely avoiding eye contact. The last thing I remembered was being in some stall in Daddy-O’s with a girl that certainly was not Jeanine.

6 am doesn’t look good on anyone, but the mixture of Jeanine’s puffed face and whatever smells we were both emanating while asleep was angering me by the minute. And this is why I consider myself a good person: I know for a fact it is every girl’s fear that they actually look how they actually look when they are at their worst. Well, they do. We all do. I wanted so badly to tell Jeanine that this was hands down the worst she had ever looked, but I didn’t. So, Jeanine, you’re welcome. And what did I tell you about the beating? I know myself.

At some point I stopped engaging and simply walked inside the Wawa. A little bit of hazelnut coffee with some ‘Irish cream flavored’ milk for me. Some orange juice and a hash brown for her, and a vague recognition that ten years ago I kind of looked like the kid at the register, braces and all. Handsome kid. A reminder of better times.