(no subject)

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Study: Female Breasts Age More Quickly Than Other Body Parts -- This is a real article.

Jon & Nate (tentative title)

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

Jonathan turned around, a puzzled look on his thin face. "I'm gathering my tools so I can go fix that tire. Unless you want to do it?"

Nate grimaced and turned his face up and away. "Whatever, man. Just don't touch my stuff."

Jonathan continued on into the utility room, muttering to himself. Good God, they’d been living in the same apartment house for two years. One would think that Nate would know by now that Jon would take care of Nate's things, or at least ignore them. He'd never break anything, whether out of spite or accident. Jon felt the rise of bile but took the time to swallow.

Walking into the tiny 4x6' room cluttered with cleaning supplies and other various implements, Jon wondered why he felt the responsibility to change the tire fell to him. He wasn't the one who left nails in the driveway. What the hell had Nate been doing in the first place? Why were nails in the lane? Nate never did give him a straight answer. Seriously, was he building a go-kart or something? Making a make-shift basketball hoop with a wooden crate? Creating an IUD? Whatever it was, he sure should have cleaned up after himself, instead of doling out half-hearted apologies when Jon arrived home from work, reverse, into the driveway, into a blown tire. What kind of jackass does that?

A sigh escaped Jon's lips. The tire would get repaired. Then he and Nate would pretend as though it never happened. This was the pattern that repeated itself throughout their relationship, the same goddamn pattern, like a fractal. But what could be done at this point? He and Nate had been friends for all but eight of each of their lives. Jon had better friends, but none that had lasted as long. In the realm of friendships, longevity held its own glamor.

( In twenty minutes, the rim clenched a fresh tire. )