I was the object for the week.
I secretly asked for feedback in my head, I guess. Got out to find it in a bar with your 3-hour-proposition. Enough to move her close enough to hit you. Enough to make him tell me stories the next day. I felt lucky in comparison. And steady enough to hold back my idea of an interesting night.
I've always forced me into emotions I didn't really feel, to no end. This is the end of phychosis.