“Let’s start with a plate of lazy tacos!” I scratch the scruff on my jaw and pull the brim of my cap down snugly against the back of my head as I try and work out what he’s asking for or if he’s just been dropped on his head too many times as a child. Maggie takes pity on me with an eye roll and says, “Nachos, he means nachos, Rex.” I shoot a “why” look at Hett, who just laughs. “What? Nachos are just lazy tacos that don’t have their shit together.”
