he was barefoot and sat with me, staring outside while we shared the fruit bowl. 'i know you don't like me.' the peaches were juteux et mûr. 'i don't expect you to.'

he was difficult. i hated it. i don't like him nor do i know him, i think. i think, i think, but i don't know. 'the fruit is lovely. merci.'

he licked the peach's juice from his fingertips. 'comme toi.'