“Eh, that is…not… pleasant.” She coughs in a fist. “The odor is foul.” “Hold on.” I pop three more nugget-sized hearts in my mouth and stand up. I chew on my hike to the bar. I have blinders. I’m not looking at Tony. But I hear him snickering. Fuck him. I mime water to my brother. Banks extends his body halfway over the bar. Reaching the fridge beneath. On stools, Farrow and Oscar start clapping for me. Like I’m in some fucked-up, backwoods hot dog eating contest.
