He looks at her. “It’s shit,” he says.

“Shit,” she replies. It’s a word she’s never heard before.

“Yeah, shit. Like you don’t understand language.” A brief silence. “Or syntax,” he adds.

A longer silence. Strained.

“No points for trying, then?” she says. She wants to make a joke.

“No points for trying.” He takes the printout from her. “I’d burn it if I could.”

“I still have a copy at home,” she says. “I could print it out again.”

He balls it up. Tosses it across the street. “Don’t do that. Delete it.”

She stares at him. Not sure what to say. “Okay,” she says, instead the other thing she wants to say.

He doesn’t say anything else. Stares into the distance. She studies his shoulder.

That evening, she deletes it.