I'm reading High Fidelity due to my wonderful little bout with nocturnalism.
"But I was kind and sincere and thoughtful and devoted and I remembered things about her and I told her she was beautiful and bought her little presents that usually referred to a conversation we had had recently. None of this was an effort, of course, and none of it was done with any sense of calculation; I found it easy to remember things about her, because I didn't think about anything else, and I really did think she was beautiful, and I would not have been able to prevent myself from buying her little presents, and I did not have to feign devotion. There was no effort involved."
I had to laugh, it sounds exactly like the male version of me.
The back of the book says fiction.
I'm screwed.
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