“Uhm—a six-piece Shrimp Tempura cut roll and an Apperol Spritz, please.” The lady nods, leaving. “Apperol Spritz?” he mocks. “That’s a girl’s drink.” I interlace my fingers in front of me and set my arms on the table. “Wow, Travis. And what am I?” “An alien.” Immature whiny baby. I huff. “I didn’t know aliens could be friends with assholes.” “We are not friends.” He hastily replies. “You just called me your friend when we arrived! Now are you going to gaslight me again and tell me you don’t remember?” “Yes, because I don’t recall saying that.” “But you do accept that you are an asshole.” I
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