“I don’t see that waitress around.” The barman chuckled. “That’s right.” “What happened to her?” “Her?” He chuckled harder and then stopped wiping, put his elbows on the bar, leaned across, and said, “You call it a her. Maybe I don’t.” “Then what do you call it?”
Cue the transphobia. This book is probably going to end with the transexual mutilating the female victims because of their jealousy.
I'm wondering if I even want to bother finishing it.
