05-20-05 - 7:41 p.m.
carey again sat at my breakfast bar last night, pondering the best way to end it with the woman whose name is tattooed on his arm. after four hours and three beers, he kissed me and went home and promptly broke up with her.
she took it better than i expected, he told me this morning, looking a little surly from sleeping on a lumpy futon.
does this mean we're an item?
you might discover i'm an asshole, he said.
i already know you're an asshole, i shot back, and so does all of diaryland.
he laughed. did i mention he smells good?