Every time I am tempted to text, or to glance, or to casually walk by a building when I know your classes have ended I will remember all the times we went to a bar and you made a joke that no one heard. It was always cringe-worthy, most two-bit. But you kept making it, even at the most inappropriate times. Only when someone else finally acknowledged it with a halfhearted smile did you let it go. All the while I would think to myself, “Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.”
Second hand embarrassment might be a cure-all.
