“Have you any idea how the other 99 percent of lads struggle?” “Says the fella sticking his dick in anything with a pulse since his fifteenth birthday.” “Hey! I never said I was part of the 99 percent, asshole,” he shot back with a laugh. “Besides, someone has to fly the solo flag.” “Yeah, and you do more than enough flag waving for the rest of us,” I grumbled, giving him the side-eye. Feely shrugged unapologetically. “It’s my hands.” He raised one for emphasis and wiggled his fingers. “Guitar fingers, lad.” “Get that thing out of my face before I puke on you,” I warned, slapping his hand
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