“I’m willing to negotiate,” I tell him. “I’ll allow you to sleep in the tent—” “You’ll allow me?” “That’s what I said. I’ll allow you to rough it for sleep, if you and I eat dinner together inside, then you get yourself comfortable for the night. A hot meal and a shower in the house for you, not whatever you’ve been doing thus far.” He massages the bridge of his nose, beneath his glasses. “I have a wash-up space in my studio.” “Yeah, and I imagine it’s meant for rinsing off paint and cleaning brushes, not showering a grown, taller-than-average man. A proper meal and a proper indoor shower.
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