“Your chips,” I replied, knocking my knuckles against her jaw gently. “Why would you cook chips?” she frowned. “Well you wouldn’t wanna eat them frozen would ya?” “She thinks you mean crisps, idiot,” Frank muttered, punching me in the bicep way harder than was necessary. “Why the fuck would I cook crisps?” I asked and Anya groaned. “You made me fries didn’t you?” she asked. “Fries, chips, whatever the fuck you wanna call them, they’re ready. So are we eating or what? I for one have worked up one hell of an appetite.” Anya looked ready to protest further but then she just shrugged. “Yeah, fuck
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