Here’s how crazy.
Every time I have a good date, I become convinced that one of us will meet with a terrible fate directly after we kiss goodbye. Because of this, I nearly gave myself a heart attack while waiting for the F last night — first, because there was no one on the platform, and my heels were making creepy clacking sounds, and then because a random teenager entered the platform, which meant that he was obviously a serial killer, come to get me at last.
I told you: Cuckoo!
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