picnic table.
"I can't seem to catch a break," Jay said. "It's like every time I turn around, I can't catch a fucking break and everything is fucked."
She lit her cigarette and stared off. "What do you think this means? Am I cursed or some shit?"
Anton stared. "No," he said flatly. He leaned in over the picnic table. "I think you're going to be just fine. In fact, I think you're being a tad dramatic." Now it was Vi's turn to stare. Her eyes were bright and her jaw was tense. "What?" She flicked her cigarette harshly and Gene could tell she was not pleased.
"Yeah. I think you're being dramatic. It's not like you don't create your own problems."
Jay sat in silence. Finally, after what seemed like a full five minutes, she got up. She brushed the seat of her pants and took one last drag of her cigarette before crushing it on the ground beneath her flip-flop. The smell of burning plastic wafted through the summer breeze.
"Y'know what? I'm sick of you. You're emotionally abusive."
Anton laughed. "Just because I say shit you don't like, doesn't make me abusive."
Jay's eyebrows crinkled in befuddlement. She didn't know what to say to defend herself and her feelings, and she didn't like it.

It was a Friday at Cheesy's and Anton had had enough of the massive mountain of a woman that stood before him. She was fat, smelly, and most of all- rude. He wasn't a fan of that combo of traits, and though he felt guilty for being so judgemental, he had resigned himself to the fact that he was just a terrible person. He scratched his neck and tried to focus on her non-stop barrage of complaints about her double quarter pounder with extra cheese. I bet she's a real bitch to her husband. So entitled., he thought.

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