We left Portsmouth just before dawn this morning. Myself, James, Luke and Celine in Luke's bronco. It took us all day to drive to the trailhead at Chopper's Curve. We just finished eating dinner, and I was feeling irritable, so I went off by myself to sit in the truck and write this. I feel silly, really, but a strong sense of anger stirred in the bottom of my gut while we were eating dinner. In a way, I feel like I shouldn't be writing about this, or even thinking about it, knowing how much time we're going to be spending together from here on out, but I feel that I need to, so I am.
It was James. Dammit, I've known him for a long time, so this shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. It was the way he ate. He chewed with his mouth open. I'd never noticed it before. I don't know how not. It's the sound. The sloppy chewy noises. The sound of the food and saliva squishing between his teeth and around his tongue. It was really horrible. We were sitting together, eating our sandwiches
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