We stopped in front of the store, classic cars lit up in the night.
“Ooh, look at that car,” he said, and I didn’t car about the car, but I liked how shiny it was.
“That car says Rich Fag all over it,” I said.
“What’s your name? Rich Fag.”
And then we giggled down the street, because that’s just the way we are sometimes when we’re both happy.
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