“Fuck off about the play, okay?” she said, and spat on the sidewalk.
“All right, then,” he said. “I’m going to start writing my story tomorrow,” he said.
“Your story, huh?”
“Yup.”
“What’s that for?”
“What do you mean?” he asked playfully.
“Why are you writing a story?”
“Well, I have to! I’ve completely redone the house, built that soundwall—it’d be a shame not to write the story now.”
“You’re writing a story about your house?”
“No, in my house. I haven’t decided what the story’s about yet. That’ll be job one tomorrow.”