“Sorry, boys. We need to find our friend. He has an anti-social behavior disorder. He’ll nail someone to a wall if we don’t keep him in check.” The crowd swallows us. Two seconds later, we’re on the other side of the kitchen and our new friends are nowhere to be seen. “Jesus fucking Christ, I need a shower,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I hate faking that shit. I need to wash myself off me. Myself, Jacobi. You made me not like myself, and I always like myself. It’s one of the many things that I’m skilled at.” “Quit griping, dude. Your seventeenth century manor house in the English
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