“You want the real Max Hilton?” I put my arm around his shoulders and my lips to his ear. “Would you like the Max Hilton with an addiction to peppermint schnapps and tormenting delivery girls in stupid outfits? Or maybe an underground fight club Max Hilton, full of rage and trauma and strange neck tattoos? Or we go with a Max Hilton who sings weepy show tunes and who still can’t get over his first love who rejected him?”
