“Nothing hurts more than a water nut-slap,” Sam says. “Fuck, my balls…” Brody groans. A mom ushers her preteen daughter away, firing a dirty look over her shoulder at Brody, who is far too busy cradling his bruised balls to notice. I crouch beside him. “Everything feel like it’s still intact?” “I feel like they’re in my throat.” He gags. “I’m gonna—” I move out of the way as he tosses his cookies.
