Fiction.

The Empathy Lecture, the tiny journal

We moved in on the same day. His palm was sweaty, and he shook my hand too long. ‘Hurt, Carter Hurt’ was how he introduced himself. Like he was James fucking Bond. The only thing we had in common was that we both ticked “night owl” and “snores infrequently” on our roommate surveys.

‘We both like movies’, he pointed out. This was untrue.

Hurt, Carter Hurt liked movies. I liked film.