Hey, you, high school classmate of the bar's owner. Thanks for giving my boyfriend attitude as you shoved ahead of us in the bar line on a crowded night at the Record Bar. You joked about being an alcoholic since your teens, so I guess you needed that drink more than we did. And we so enjoyed your story about how the owner stole your first girlfriend. It must not have been hard. I'm sure she would appreciate how you kept yelling out her full name to your old friend, followed by: "Aren't you glad neither of us ended up with her?" It's also cool how you reappeared an instant later to loudly proclaim you'd gotten a whiskey and Seven instead of a whiskey and soda, a minor slip in the midst of a sold-out concert. I only wish he'd poured you something stronger, something to make you shut the hell up.
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