“You chasing her too?” I half expect him to throw a punch until he laughs. Hard. “Fuck no. She’s psychotic.” Yeah . . . not what I was expecting. “Dude. No. Seriously. No. That one is all yours. If you get stuck for conversation, ask her about the seagulls on the beach. You’ll thank me later.” The doors open a floor below Everly’s, and the bartender salutes me as he shuffles off, mumbling, “Seagulls, man. Trust me.”
