Dad wore a large fake brown mustache and oversized mirror shades. He looked like a seventies porn star, something Nick immediately wished he could banish from his brain. He knew a disguise was necessary in case Dad’s former colleagues recognized him, but there had to be a better way to go about it. “Well?” Dad asked. “How do I look?” “Like you want us to follow you into an alley so you can flash us,” Nick said. “Like you own sixteen birds with complicated backstories for each,” Seth said. “Like you’re the bass player in a Christian punk band called Please Us, Jesus,” Jazz said, leaning her
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