“I’m not saying you’re an asshole because you like Tom Petty,” said Pablo, watching the knucklehead house through the living-room window two nights later, after we’d been blasted awake by Petty’s “Even the Losers.” “I might like Tom Petty, too, if I’d listened to him in high school, like you did. But I didn’t, so now, because of these fuckers, every time I hear Tom Petty it sounds like asshole music.”
“Even the assholes,” I sang softly to myself, after Pablo had gone back to bed, “play good songs sometimes.” Jeanette got out of the shower and made herself some breakfast, quietly humming.
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