Kyle snapped out of his nod. The sight of Evan between the asses of the strippers was like a glimpse of the cold, blue sea down a dirty city street. "Bro!" He got up and greeted Evan with an elaborate handshake, a hip bump, two consecutive lo-fives, a hi-five and finally a terse hug, as though what had just transpired were a ritual fight programmed to conclude in a gesture of conciliation. This is how they greeted each other in the dugout when someone hit a home run or a sac fly or whatever, not that they'd had many of those lately. The girls stood awkwardly to the side, shifting in their heels, smiles at the ready.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
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