“You look like you’re bleeding,” he told me, suddenly stopping and tilting his head to look at me. “Are you bleeding?”
“No, I’m not bleeding. Now, as far as the non-competitive clause goes – ”
“Are you sure you’re not bleeding?” I shrugged, not in confusion, but defeat. Once he had a thought he would pursue it to its end – whether it was logical or completely fantastical. He had gotten hold of the idea I was bleeding and he was going to – well, he was going to shred the idea as thoroughly as the director’s French Bulldog shreds used tissues.

He looked at my feet. “Is it going to start falling out of you?” I rubbed my face with the back of my hand. “Dude, that doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Alright then, is it collecting somewhere in your internal cavities?”


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