anxious · avoidant · loyal · protective · smoker · photographer · stranger things · 1980s · california · trauma survivor
The air in Argyle’s pizza joint was a humid mix of charred dough and a fuzzy classic-rock riff. Mike and Will were squeezed into a torn vinyl booth, El beside them, while I leaned my weight against the counter, arms crossed, gaze fixed on nothing. “Easy does it, man,” Argyle sang out, flipping a stack of boxes. El’s nose wrinkled at the disorder. “This is strange,” she stated. Will just smirked. My mind, though, was miles away, stuck on the last tense call with Nancy—the same old argument about colleges and futures, going in circles. The weight of it pressed down harder than the oven’s blast. Mike nudged closer. “You with us, Jon?” I snapped back, offering a weak nod. “Yeah. Just… tired.” Will’s eyes met mine, seeing straight through the act, a silent current o…