When was the last time you talked to Martin Price?
Girl, you didn’t hear about it, I’m guessing.
Guessing not, do tell. Mind if I grab a Diet?
Sure thing, though a regular wouldn’t kill you.
Thanks boo, I’ll keep that in mind. Didn’t you and Martin, I don’t know…
Have a thing? Is that what you were going to say?
Yeah, that, I guess. I prefer to give you the opportunity to phrase it however it was.
Yeah that I guess. I mean if you count receiving anywhere from five and eight blackout hand-jobs during our spring-break-shit-show a thing.
I guess not. So that’s why he doesn’t talk to you?
You really didn’t hear the story.
Friday, day before we left, he disappeared with what we all told him explicitly was not only a Dominican male prostitute but also a pre-teen Dominican non-male prostitute. He didn’t listen, disappeared, we left without him.
I know, our group was huge, like thirty some people, I was the only one that was a close friend of Martin’s, the only one that knew him at all really, someone else had the tickets. What am I doing? It’s no excuse. He came back two weeks later and looked like a pinata, even then, from all of the swelling. He’s missing a thumb.
Wow. Just. Wow. So I guess that’s why? I’m so sorry I brought it up.
Yeah, that I guess.