Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] I could really use your dits and dashes right now, Birdie. I could really use anyone to talk to. Harry and I—well, all that growth and warming up and being more vulnerable…I guess I was lulled into a false sense of calm, because things finally…I didn’t think we had more to say to each other, but I guess we did.  It was you…it was you saying “our date”. Can you believe that? All of this time, everything that’s happened, and it was a little jealousy over a person I question is real half the time that finally tipped Harry over. And, you know, I’d been suspecting that she was jealous of you but…Jesus.  When I told her about your message, I guess—well, I was happy! I am happy, I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say. But she—she read something into it because she asked me if I’m in love with you. Which is just… Don’t take this the wrong way, Birdie, but that’s absurd to me. I’m grateful for you—more than I think I can ever fully express—and I hope that I’ve brought…well, something to what sounds like your fairly complicated existence, but I don’t know you. Not really. I know that you’re caring, and regretful, and scared—I know enough to consider you a friend and to want to really get to know you and cement that friendship. But I don’t know you like I… I don’t know all the different kinds of laughs you have—the one when you’re being polite, when you think someone is being stupid, when you actually find something hilarious but don’t want to admit it, when you’re embarrassed or flattered, and the one that’s just genuine joy. I don’t know if you have any scars or birthmarks or that you broke your arm falling off a bike when you were eleven and haven’t ever really ridden a bike since. I don’t know the names of your parents or if you have siblings, or what you would spend your perfect day doing.  And it’s not just…the minutiae, it’s…I wouldn’t recognize you in a crowd. I can listen to any song and not have it remind me of you. I can wake up and not have you be the first thing on my mind.  I didn’t—I didn’t say all that, but I told Harry she was crazy, which, well, was the wrong thing to say because she…she blew up at me. She said that she’s felt this before, that she knows what it’s like to be on the outside when I’m on the inside with someone. That that’s what it’s always like with— I know—I know that you can’t ever really know what someone is experiencing. How a person sees the same events that you’re both going through. But I’d—I’d really had no idea that Harry felt so left out all the time. That my friendship with the guys put her on the outs. That the easy way I had of being with everyone we ever met—with Sissy and K and Francis and Sylvie—how the way that I liked everyone and everyone liked me felt like she was always standing in front of a locked door. And that I was doing that now, that Birdie is my person and that Harry just gets the scraps of both.  I…well, it put some things into context I guess. She’s selfish, possessive, resentful of the fact that she had to share me with all of New York and now she has to share me with the world. She hates the fact that I spent all that time not talking to her and then started telling every inner thought and private secret to anyone who could listen. She’s jealous of you and she’s jealous of my radio.  And I’m not—that’s not me calling her selfish or possessive or any of that. That’s how she put it. Her exact words. And what does she want me to do with that? I—I didn’t say anything. I just walked away and came back up here. After all, it’s her turn to be the one left holding the emotional bag.  I know she’s lis