The next night I asked Logan out to the juice bar. It’s Friday and I’m dead after a rough week. We’d gone out to the juicery before; He seemed pretty impressed with my Foosball skills, but I mean, I am pretty impressive.
Logan: You seem more stressed than usual.
Alice: I guess I just hate my job more than usual.
Logan: Was it the spitballs?
Alice: Ugh, let’s not talk about that. I’m still trying to get over that socialite’s daughter sticking gum in my hair. I’d quit now but… I have to save up. I mean what if this whole writing thing doesn’t work out?