“Normal clothes. Instead of pastel suits that cost a bomb, or designer jeans, or—” “My jeans are not designer. They’re Levi.” “How much were they?” “I don’t know—ninety pounds. Griff, why are you laughing?” “Put the T-shirt on,” I say in between chuckles. “And these.” A pair of my sweats smack him in the chest. “I promise they won’t make you poor by association.” “You prick.”
