I made everyone get in the giant leopard-skin chair at the San Gennaro festival. I’m not ashamed. I realize it’s cheesy and touristy and retarded and probably infested with lice.
It’s also our youth, and our friendship, and in fifty years when we’re all living at the Tribe Nursing Home (Biscuit’s house) we’ll look back on this smiling group of friends and say, “Weren’t we beautiful?”
Well, it’ll sound more like, “Whumffwee moodhfuh?”
But whatever.

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