He was full of words. That was what he was full of. Funny she never spoke a word to him for years. Now they flew in torrents.

Words, some meaningless, others meaningful. Deprived be the ability of distinction between the two. A talent to be mastered, or not. Sentences full of “and stuff”, “deeply think about this” and other stuff.

Books there be in abundance. He would stick one under her nose, telling that it be the best.

“She reads love stories!” she tells him, her friend chirps away on the phone, the cover of “Chucking the dragon” zooming in front of her eyes, with his face behind it with comic expression, a possible distraction but not enough an attraction.

“ I said love story, not porn story” she says.

“ I didn’t write it” he says.

Conversations, counter arguments and many confusions. Cigarettes, puffs of smoke and clawing of nails on skin though boredom.

“You bite too?!” He asks.

“Now you are branded” she adds happy with her nail art.

“Give me a little time, I need to get rid of my fuck buddies” he tells and turns pages of “Suicide Club”.