“Why are you doing this?” he asked.“I told you, I love ice cream.”“I mean me. Why did you bring me here?”“I asked you if you wanted ice ...ream too, and you said yes.” This time her tone didn’t sound quite so genuine.“You know what I mean,” he said.“I don’t know,” she said. That sounded uncomfortable.“I don’t want pity,” he said. It was his mantra.“I can’t help but feel some of that,” she said. “Nobody could look at your situation and avoid that.” The way she said it made pity sound like a. Stumbling, attempting to assert himself, Randy finds his way from the vehicle. He confronts me just as I was about to cross the line by telling the officer exactly where she could stick her badge. Randy’s calm demeanor, his skill at handling stressed out women (because of having a mother and two sisters) he diffuses the situation. Lying smoothly, he explains why I have no purse, and equates our youthful passions to natural passions and ‘ah youth’. The officer, after realizing that Randy’s a. More

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