“You like our waiter, Edgey? I’ll get you his number.”
“Oh, please don't—”
But Larry’s already up and halfway across the restaurant, shit-eating smile in place: “Hey! Pardon me, gorgeous, I hate to bother you, but you see my friend back there? The hot one? Well…”
How does it work, Phoenix wonders? How does Larry manage to do this? It makes no sense. Phoenix would not touch Larry with somebody else’s ten-foot-pole. But the waiter is looking back at them and smiling, and Miles has his face buried in his hands.
“He’s doing it, isn’t he…”
“Yep,” says Phoenix, popping the P.
“Ngh…”
“He is a pretty good wingman.”
“I don’t want a wingman.”
“And yet you hang out with Larry Butz.”
Miles looks up at the ceiling and gestures in wordless exasperation, and meanwhile Larry’s back, victorious, and hands Miles a little piece of paper. It’s got a number. And ooh: a winky face. Miles takes it as if he’s been handed a wad of chewed gum.
“Who’s got you?” croons Larry. “Larry’s got you.”
Phoenix leans over and frowns at Larry. “Hey, how come he’s the hot one?”
Larry looks at him briefly. “I don’t control your genes, Nick.”

[kenji-kensama]

🟡🔴🔵

[pauladrawsnstuff]

I drew this on the plane. Turns out, I hate drawing on planes. I also hate being on planes.

Larry, Edgey, and Nick are chatting in my head. Someday those two are going to take Miles out to do Stupid Shit.

“You know what Edgey’s problem is?”
“God, I would fucking love to.”
“Excuse me—”
“He was never a teenager.”
“I beg your pardon—”
“Yeah he was. He had to have been. He’s here now, he’s twenty-some-fucking thing—”
“I’m the same age as both of you—”
“But he was a teenager in Germany. Not here. And he lived with an asshole.”
“I’ll give you the last point—”
“And he didn’t get to hang out with us! That would have been crucial, Nick.”
“Oh my God. Do you really think that’s it?”
“Am I ever wrong?”
“Larry—”
“Larry!”
“Okay. Okay, sometimes I’m wrong. But this time I think I’m right.” Larry pauses dramatically, opening his hands. “Edgey: you have to do some stupid teenage American shit.”
“Oh, God,” says Miles, dropping his face into his hands.