"Playing with blocks is not how you get laid," he said to her.
She thought to herself, wrong, that's exactly how you do it.
Eventually the conversation changed to God and String Theory, and everyone relaxed, the particles between them settling.
Knowing someone is going to kiss you at some point is a combination of anxiety and thrill.
"I can't have you come in, my room is so messy you won't like me again."
Which everybody thinks is silly until they actually see my room.
When she went to work the next day, the back of her head hurt from being pushed up against the car door. She told her co-worker who drover her home that day that she was worried that the soft spot on the crown of her head had never fully sewn up, that there was an open vulnerable spot in the back of her skull. Which made her think about trepanning, and how she had never bothered to look up if trepanning was a real thing or something he had might up to put in the book. Some concepts her brain was okay with not defining as truth or fiction, as if once the idea had been made up that made it truth regardless in some dimension.