Love found us in August, after midnight. She had red eyes and a dry laugh and this wild, shot smile and stayed up and up so that we had to stay up, too.
Love backed us into a corner, expectantly repeating her same flat jokes and squeezing us into each other.
Love looked at me looking at you and ploughed on, talking about losing her mind and her least favourite book and asking questions and answering them for herself and finally, when her work was done and the sun had risen, Love said, you two really hate me, don’t you?