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Manchego

Rumors about the Spaniard propagate through the juice bar: he’s a new trainer at the gym–no!–he’s shooting a pilot in town. Or he’s Tricia’s sugar daddy, exposed at last. Someone heard he’s a black belt. Is that really his hair? Well then whose is it?

Art draws the short straw and brings out his order; he pays in dollar coins and, says Art, is redolent of Gold Bond. The girls demand he grab a cell-phone shot of his tightpants areas. They crowd the edge of the swinging door, trying to read his mind.

Yo soy… Manchego, thinks Manchego.

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