engine house no. 9.


"sup, bro?"
"oh, you know. chillin'."
"watching the game?"
"def, man. def."
"who's up? i'm driving right now."
"not boston, man. can you believe this?"
"no k.g., man. what'd you expect?"
"for real."
"anyway, you still up for tomorrow?"
"what's goin' on?"
"bro! katy's dirty 30, man. you already forgot?"
"oh shit. yeah, totally."
"well, you goin' or what?"
"i dunno, man. it's playoffs!"
"no doubt. but they'll be showing games. it's a fuckin' bar!"
"where's it at again?"
"engine house #9. tacoma."
"oh yeah. shit."
"i'll pick you up."
"aight, man. later."
"peace."

"shit, man. what is this place? total sausagefest."
"dude, katy's friends are coming later."
"oh yeah? which ones?"
"i don't know. the blonde one you like who always grabs your arm when she speaks."
"oh, oh yeah. jess, i think."
"jess or tess."
"think it's jess."
"whatever."
"who you lookin' out for?"
"denise. or sara. or both."
"hahahaha."
"shit, man. no playoffs! just a fucking sounders game."
"seriously, what's up with this sounders shit? this is america, man. no one gives a shit about soccer."
"really though."
"oh shit. birthday girl's here with her posse."
"better go make the rounds."

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