They went for a jog, and after an hour the shorter friend said, I don’t get love, and the other friend said, Dude, and so they kept jogging.

He whips me with a wet towel in the locker room so I get on my phone and call my goon and say, Please kill him, but my goon calls me a fool.

She knew they’d gone to bed too soon after dinner and that he’d start farting excessively and that her lawyer would never believe the smell.

I lied to you, he says, the start of something, forgiveness he hopes. Are you lying to me now? she asks. I love you, he says. Because he can.