"Ain't your fault," Bobby said, although part of him thought that it was his fault at least a little. He drove down the road, the sound of the radio filling the silence for him. He imagined Michael in that bar, dressed the way he usually was. That cocky smirk. He could imagine him singling a guy out and giving him the eye all too easily.

"...do think you need higher standards though. What, is that guy gay hot?" He didn't seem it to him.