“Dude,” Jason says coming up next to me. “Herman in a tux is a nice touch. I’ve taken at least twenty pictures with him and can foresee at least ten more. He has that brooding look down. Dog’s got game, I see the lady dogs giving him the eye. Like, ‘oh, over here, Herman, bring those fine three legs over here.’” “Why did I invite you?” “Couldn’t be sure,” Jason says, taking a sip of his drink. “Could. Not. Be. Sure.”
