“… I don’t know if it was the drugs or the cheap liquor or The Smiths poster on your bedroom wall. I don’t know if was your interest in learning fascist literature in the original French, your encyclopedic knowledge of BBC sketch comedy from the 1970s, or your shot-by-shot analysis of every film by Federico Fellini, but the combination of your looks, your habits and your pretension had me on the line.
I listened to you play guitar. I listened to your critiques of Andrea Dworkin. I listened and listened and listened and had no opinion on anything because I wanted to be the cool and aloof girl who didn’t want too much. I didn’t want to take up more space than you were offering…”