“Sorta...” *** Our confessional story starts way back when I was one of these lazy ass students. I used to cut most classes and hang out in that o...-so intellectual café like all my fellow hipsters and read my share of Sartre, Nietzsche, Milton and Salinger, you name them. And no, my confession will not be based on my hedonistic lifestyle as the disreputable slacker I was, wearing fake glasses to fit the stereotype. Back to said café: of course there were always the few odd ones out among the. But then I realized there were also some other things different than normal. Another pair of shoes that I didn't recognize were sitting next to hers. They were guys shoes.I walked through the house looking for her. I didn't see her. She wasn't in the living room, the dining room, or even the kitchen. I thought she may be in the bathroom, so as typical if we were home alone, I walked in. I'd been sexually active with her, so seeing her in the nude was nothing. She wasn't there.For whatever. More

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