“This is boring. You bore me.” “How can you be bored?” I asked him, peeking out from beneath the blanket I’d put over my head. “That’s not like you at all. Besides, didn’t you tell me only boring people get bored?” He had, and it was true. Dwayne was one of the few people in the world who was never bored because everything was either an opportunity to learn something new, or an opportunity to ruthlessly fuck with people. He loved to do both, and I wasn’t convinced that my semi-permanent residence on his couch had changed that fundamental fact. “Fine,” he said. “You aren’t boring me. You’re destroying the ambience of the apartment. You’re depressing.” “Maybe that’s because I am depressed,” I said, feeling cranky. “Thanks for asking, by the way.” “I know you’re depressed but you don’t have to go spreading it around like herpes.” He glared at me and waved his hands, as though pointing out the sores from the mopey STD I’d given his apartment.
