"I walk silently to them and I sit down. After what he told me yesterday, nothing logic comes out. I thought about forgetting and about burying it, so it would become another ridiculous story to tell later, but I just didn't. I shake under my black leather jacket, look at them and try to think: What would I do with them? What will I do with them? The only conclusion I come to, is that I just desperatly want to slap them all in the face. 

You look ridiculous, I say, and give them a little laugh for saving. 

What, my clothes? I thought they were beautiful. Brought them for the New Year..., she says, looking down.

Not your clothes, idiot, I answer, your behaviour for years and years. 

Oh, if they knew how many times I laughed about them, how many times people couldn't control themselves because I was too busy making them look pathetic instead of presenting them with their names. 

Oh, I whisper. This got tiring but it's still funny.

I give them what they want back violently, stand up and walk out of that place, never looking back to see their faces again."