What started as a casual bowling night with West and Clyde has become a hell of a lot more organized. Over the past several months, we’ve picked up two more regular members—ones I don’t hate. Ford, West’s childhood best friend, and Rhys, a stray that our local bistro owner dropped off one day. Don’t know much about the guy, but I like him a lot. He’s not annoying, and he doesn’t ask a bunch of questions. We’ve struck up a friendship that mostly consists of rolling our eyes at West and exchanging to-the-point text messages. He reminds me of my friend Emmett, a professional bull rider on the
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