Mark reads in bed. Jamie works at a laptop at a desk nearby.
Jamie: Remember when spam was nothing worse than that weekly email from your aunt?
Mark: My grandmother still sends her emails to the wrong person. Every. Single. Time.
Jamie: And this email from the faux Maiduguri prince.
Mark: Why ‘faux?’
Jamie: He misspells ‘Maiduguri’ but seems to know an awful lot about how PayPal works.
Mark (absently): Right.
Jamie: …and this email from Kathy.
Mark: (puts book down, looks up questioningly)
Jamie: She was the one I thought was the one and almost moved to Canada with. But we couldn’t stop fighting about absolutely nothing until she finally broke up with me through Fed Ex.
Mark: (long silence) The Tori Amos fan?
Jamie: Right!
Mark: Right. What does she say?
Jamie: She says she still hates me and the only reason she doesn’t wish me dead is that she wants to kill me herself.
Mark just stares at Jamie…
Jamie: …and if I admit that I was a douche to her, she will talk to me again.
Mark: Were you a douche?
Jamie: (long silence) Probably.
Mark (nonplussed): Well, there you go.
Mark turns out light and rolls over, leaving Jamie illuminated only by the computer screen
Jamie: There were some smileys in there, too.
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