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To be honest, I’m normally really good at talking to strangers. I don’t know if it’s a Georgia thing or only an Arthur thing, but if there’s an elderly man in a grocery store, I’m there price-checking prune juices for him. If there’s a pregnant lady on an airplane, she’s named her unborn kid after me by the time the plane lands. It’s the one thing I have going for me.
“You’ll always be my number one, Big Ben,” Dylan says. “Until Baby Cider is born.” “Bros before babies,” I demand. “Tie?” I shrug. “Tie.” “You won’t be single long,” Dylan says, like he’s a Magic 8 Ball in white flesh. “You’re tall, your hair is Hollywood ready, your style is effortless. If I didn’t have Mrs. Samantha Last-Name-to-Be-Discovered-Before-I-Can-Properly-Hyphenate-It-with-Boggs, I’m positive you would have me changing gears within a year.” “That’s sweet. You know getting someone to go gay for me would be the highlight of my life.” I don’t go chasing after straight guys, but if one
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