“Nice of you to show up,” Gerald said walking in five minutes late. He grimaced at Flint’s shirt. “Why you disrespectful little twit! Your shirt’s all wrinkled!”
“My iron broke,” Flint said, “Would you have preferred me late because I was scrambling to buy a new iron this morning?”
How idiotic, Gerald wanted to say but he held back. That was how gracious and kindhearted a man he was. It was a false choice Flint presented. Obviously, he could have somehow ironed his shirt, broken iron or not. Besides, Flint was probably lying anyway. The jerk.
Gerald, surprisingly, had no friends.
