. . . . You know, as an overthought, I think I might like Danielle almost as much as Clay does. Non-romantically, of course.
This morning, she said, "You know, I always really liked you and I'm so glad we're friends and that you're here."
I told her, "You have every reason in the world to resent me and I am so glad that you do not."
"No, believe me--- I was so pissed at him, I remember thinking, 'Damnit! That girl was so cool, right when I thought I'd finally made a female friend, he steals her away from me!' I wasn't ever mad at you."

It was cool. And her house is rad, a tiny studio apartment, with no bedroom, even. I asked if she ever got tired living alone, she said yes--- tired, and bored, but never sad and only occasionally lonely. It's the first place she's had by herself.

When she got out of highschool four years ago, she ran away and hitch-hiked and lived with gypsies and crust punks and homeless people for a year. She told me all these crazy ass stories--- I'm just surprised she repaired her relationship with her parents.

Never hopped a train though; she thinks it's too dangerous (she saw someone's leg get ripped off once, IRL). Next summer, I'm making her hop one with me.