[392. Adoration of madmen.]
There’s someone knocking at the door, and Stephen gets up to answer it. He’s not expecting anyone. Most everyone he knows would have called first.
“Oh,” he says, seeing who’s waiting for him on the stoop. “Oh,” which is ridiculous, but what else to say?
“I fucked up,” says Saffi, without any preamble. “I was stupid and I was scared and I fucked up.” He’s pale and plain, looking absurdly vulnerable: no nail polish, no eyeliner, but he’s carrying his guitar.
Stephen just nods. “Yeah. I guess you did.”
A wavery sort of smile from Saffi. “Can I come in, then?”
“Oh,” he says, seeing who’s waiting for him on the stoop. “Oh,” which is ridiculous, but what else to say?
“I fucked up,” says Saffi, without any preamble. “I was stupid and I was scared and I fucked up.” He’s pale and plain, looking absurdly vulnerable: no nail polish, no eyeliner, but he’s carrying his guitar.
Stephen just nods. “Yeah. I guess you did.”
A wavery sort of smile from Saffi. “Can I come in, then?”