“Why do chicks always do this shit? They say it doesn’t matter, but the moment you name a place, they aren’t in the mood for it. I’m not playing this game.” Gentry turns in his seat and looks at me. “Name the spot.” “It really doesn’t matter,” I say. “Anything will be better than a crusty hot dog from the gas station.” With a sigh, Gentry looks at the interstate. We near a sign that names off fast-food places, and he assesses it as we pass. “Get off at this exit,” he says to Karson. “We’ll grab something from Taco Bell.” “My stomach will be upset for days,” I say. Karson’s head twists toward
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