Annather very good friend of mine

A. is another very good friend of mine. In fact, we, all friends and mates, call him B., but he’s A. I never could elucidate how did A. become my friend, since he was acting like a stupid gay, first times I met him.

Yet, I care about him a lot. I care about him so fuckin’ much, that both his mom and my dad, as well as many other friends and mates, all of them wonder a lot about it. His mom is being deeply thankful and I appreciate that, though she shouldn’t be. That’s my understanding of friendship. My dad is a former policeman and he gets suspicious all the time. It’s okay.

Still, if I think better of A., there’s something left from him acting like stupid. Even until now, when we like the thought of us having grown up. That’s precisely what I told him yesterday:

‘You’re being a stupid cunt! An ingrate idiot, that’s what you are now.’

I didn’t mean it, of course. He’s not stupid, and he’s no cunt. He just likes to act like one. And he’s about to fuck it again.

Can at least Proust change your life, A.?