“You could post that,” Brad said. “Or you could delete your account. Or you could just sit here and help me fold.” He gestured to a mountain of warm, unscented sheets. “No one’s watching. No one’s screenshotting. For once, there’s no audience.”
A figure sat in the back, feeding quarters into a machine. Average height. Hoodie up. When they turned, Leo saw a face that was unremarkable in the best way—the kind of face you’d pass on the street and forget instantly. hookup hotshot twitter
Leo stared at the screen. The laundromat’s dryers thundered like approaching cavalry. “You could post that,” Brad said
Neither of them posted anything that night. “You could post that