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"This is serious, boys. Brad doesn't want nachos. We need an intervention!"
Reese is a good cook. Maybe not healing-a-TBI good like he thinks, but on a scale from shitty rich people restaurants where they serve you one olive seed at a time on fire to TGI Friday's at happy hour, he's a solid Panera Bread.
"I was in a coma, bro, it's not that serious," I tell him. "I'll eat the nachos in a bit. Promise. I just need to chill."
"Reese says you're dying." "I'm not dying. I just don't want nachos," I clarify, rolling my eyes.
"Just trying to figure out where I left off," I answer. I left a piece of a pork rind bag between the pages to mark my spot, but it's gone now. If only there was some sort of thing you could stick into a book to keep your place.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know how to pronounce this shit when it’s all made up?" I snap. Devon rolls his eyes. "Are you kidding me? Latin is real! Did you think it was just some fantasy language they made up for movies like Elvish or something?" I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I thought it was like all those Enya songs."
"My sister's a witch." "No, your sister just shops at Urban Outfitters," Devon says pointedly.
"Hey, man, I'm not judging. My cousin is half-gay."
"We're doing witchcraft. Brad's a gay furry now," he says, as if those thoughts are somehow remotely connected. And I mean... "Shut up, Reese!" I snap, my face heating up. "I'm not a fucking furry! Can we just get back to the ritual, please?" I ask, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "Chill out, dude," Steve says nonchalantly. "You know Reese's cousin is half-gay." Reese gives me a pointed "I told you so" look. "Oh my God," Devon mutters, rubbing his forehead. "Whose turn is it with the brain cell today? Maybe we can get him in here instead."
"Where the fuck did the naked guy come from? It's not even rush week!" Kevin cries.
not too comforting that my fate rests in the hands of a woman I'm pretty sure at this point is just going off vibes and winging it,

