““Am I an asshole? In the past, I would have said "no" with some degree of confidence. But as I drop my bag of groceries into my bike pack under the store's front awning, I have to consider that the answer might have changed during the past few months. They say misery loves company. I think I get it now. That back there with Marley-- taunting her, I admit--that shit was the best part of my day. My week. My month. That shit was the rainbow in a fucking black and white film. The outrage on her face... Goddamn. I fucking loved her angry, bright red face. When I turned to walk away, she looked mad enough to spit bullets. All over a fucking pack of pork chops. As I zip my bag, I press my lips together--to suppress a wicked chuckle. Asshole. I'm not sure I even mind it. Why not be an asshole? Nice guys come in last--another adage I'm starting to believe. I've played it nice my whole damn life, or fucking tried. Why not seek out entertainment now?””
