An oddly timed bar mitzvah, an ice-skating frolic gone awry, a benign seizure, an ultimate Frisbee game ending with orthodontia in my arm. He is a muscley, Scandinavian stallion, blond Nick Carter haircut, and he wears big, swishy shorts in that slippery workout material. Nurse Man, Little Ball o’ Fire, Bride, The Lunge. Multiply pierced, Nurse Man swaggers in, an aging hipster in blue scrubs. Lunge spends huge amounts of time pacing across the floor in plummeting manner, as though he is tracking a giant, adapting to the strides of a 12-foot man. Do I spend too much time thinking, or is there someone wondering, “What’s the deal with that girl who keeps laughing softly whenever the blond guy walks in? read more
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