Climbing the fire escape, I thought about all the times I’ve been rejected: elementary school kickball teams, high school dances, college orgies, post-college job interviews. The higher I climbed—certain that she was in the apartment on the top floor and not “catching happy hour with a colleague”—the lower into despair I sank. The sun was descending and my shadow lagged further and further behind, as though it didn’t want to accompany me on my quest for vindication.

The knife in my pocket suddenly felt heavy.

Once, a girl broke my heart and I slashed her tires. As a peace offering I gave her some pears that I found in the middle of the highway, the result of a crashed fruit truck. I told her they came from the mall.

I heard her laughter through the door. Peering between the blinds I saw tangled bodies. Overcome with rage, I charged the door.

“K,” she screamed, “what are you doing here?”

I looked for my shadow, which had decided to wait outside. I readied my knife but paused when I realized she was in bed with a woman.

Arousal overtook me and my shadow shook its head from the doorway.