"I'm nice to you," she says, "you're mean to me. You're mean to me, I'm mean to you back. You started it." I want to ask when I started it exactly. I can't remember. It seems accurate. I can't argue with her. I could, as a joke, as usual, but the logic's too sound.
"You're right," I say. She's surprised by my sincerity. "When you're right, you're right. And you're right."
She squints her eyes at me, like someone trying to focus on a blurry word. I could tell her what that word is, but I don't dare.
"I know," I say. "Don't get used to it."
"You're not gonna fight me on this?" she asks.
"I mean, I thought it would be nice to give you at least one win." The smile returns and so does mine. We're all just kicking shins until we die.
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