“Exactly. ‘We went for a walk, and then George Clooneyed until around two. Good night.’ ” Oliver nods, putting some pens away in a drawer. “I’d probably have to add that to my bucket list, too.” “See, this is why we’re friends,” I tell him. Being near him is like a dose of Xanax. I can’t help but be calmed. “You would get that George Clooney as a verb would be such a monumental thing that, gay or straight, you’d want a piece of it.” “He’s totally gay,” Not-Joe says, louder this time. Oliver makes a skeptical noise, finally looking over at him. “I don’t reckon he is, though. He got married.”
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