With the quick raise of two fingers, Farrow is next. “The idea of being a part of a clique is not my favorite thing. And being honest, this has always seemed like a clique.” He tilts his head. “Technically, it still is. But I don’t mind this little club. It’s not half-bad.” I slow-clap. “That was weak sauce.” “Because you can’t stomach hot sauce without shitting yourself.” I start to laugh, then mockingly cover Jack’s ears. “Not in front of meu raio de sol.”
