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Lowell

“Jesus, you guys. Who decided to let her do that? ” Larry isn’t concentrating on driving, and Lowell’s gripping his seat. They’re cruising Broadway. “Is she bleeding? Nose, eyes, ears? Well check.” Pause. “Okay, is she breathing? I know she can’t. Check her breathing.”

His loose shirt is puffed up by the air vents, and he’s got a sunburn on his upper arms; his skin looks older than it should. The blue light from the dash shadows out his eyes. Sweat on his upper lip: he needs a shave.

“She’s fine, okay?” he says, trying to cradle his tiny phone. “Fine.”

Lowell

“Weird stuff, man.” Larry shakes his head. They’re cruising Market. “The other night, okay? It’s like two in the morning and this girl calls and wakes me up. She wants to come over. I’m like fine, okay, I put some pants on and let her in. And she goes, ‘Hey, let’s watch some porn.'”

“What?” says Lowell. “What?

“I know! Like girls ever want to watch porn!” Larry nods. “I was really falling asleep, though. She left after a while.”

“Larry,” says Lowell, “she was trying to have sex with you.”

I don’t know,” says Larry uneasily. “Man. You think so?”

Larry

“It’s harder than is sounds,” says Larry mournfully. They’re cruising Main. “I mean anybody thinks–I hang out with a lot of girls, right? But the nice guy who hangs out with all the hot girls… you know?” His phone buzzes. “Hey you! No, what you up to? Oh… might be here on Fourth for a while… Yeah? Mmm. I could be down for that. Yeah, Misty, call you a little later then? Yeah. Okay. Bye, sweetie.” He hangs up. “I don’t know, man, maybe I’m just too sorry for myself.”

In the passenger seat, Lowell picks his chin and sighs.

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