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  • We are driving down a street in the only Arizona town I know how to navigate and the car is overheating so the windows are open, the wind carelessly tossing my long hair around my head.

    "When I was your age," he starts, and I'm already dreading where this is going. After all, you are a twenty-one year old from Kansas. “When I was your age, there was a period where I did G for three straight days and did nothing but tag downtown Phoenix and fuck rich teenagers in their Scottsdale mansions."

    I look at him and roll my eyes. “How did that work out?"

    He smiles this Patrick Bateman-esque grin that he must have been perfecting for years—because nobody on earth can flash that smile without at least a little practice.

    "It was beautiful, baby. Three days of art, G, and teenagers telling their disbelieving daddies, ‘But I love him!’? Beautiful."
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