Alana had always trusted Ron’s taste. He had a knack for finding hidden gems—quirky cafés tucked in alleyways, indie theaters showing films no one else had heard of, rooftops with fairy lights strung across. So, when he said he had “a surprise place” for their Friday night, she followed without question.
The cab ride was longer than usual, winding away from the lively parts of town into dim, unfamiliar streets. When they stopped in front of a peeling, graffiti-covered building, Alana’s stomach tightened. The sign above the door flickered, half its neon letters dead.
“Here we are!” Ron announced with boyish enthusiasm, grabbing her hand and leading her inside.
The air was heavy with stale smoke. The lobby’s threadbare carpet gave off an odor of mildew. A man with glazed eyes slumped across a chair, muttering to himself. Alana froze. This wasn’t a quirky hidden gem. This was a flop-house.
She looked at Ron in disbelief. “You brought me here? For a date?”
He shrugged, grinning as though he had discovered buried treasure. “It’s authentic, you know? Real people, real stories. I thought you’d appreciate something raw, something different.”
Her heart sank. She had wanted romance, or at least respect. Instead, she felt reduced to a spectator in his careless adventure. “Ron, this isn’t edgy. It’s sad. These people live here because they don’t have a choice. And you think it’s… entertainment?”
His smile faltered, confusion creeping in. “I thought you’d get it.”
She pulled her hand from his. “No, Ron. What I get is that you don’t understand me at all.”
Alana walked out into the night, the cool air clearing her lungs, her mind, and her heart. She knew she was done—done with the flop-house, and done with Ron.
Therapy Bits 
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