Go to the bank and find out that your bank statement is actually running a bit lower than you thought. Ok, a lot lower – probably from all the lunches or, erm, “falafel.” Realize you’re going to have to get a higher paying job than an internship if you’re going to want to keep eating or drinking anything at all. Realize you’re going to have to get two internships. And start selling drugs. Lots of drugs. And stripping! But you can’t strip – too many lunches.

The people you’ll never be able to have lunch with are the ones that didn’t have a happy ending. They exploded right in front of you and caused a loss of appetite, a night of heavy drinking, a regrettable exchange of words. The key difference here is blame. The dissolution of a monumental relationship always carries blame. It has to. Who wants to take responsibility for the death of something so special?


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