Or: Henry’s son Blake and my friend Sarah are good sports.
Blake wore a Chiodos shirt and I was happy.
At least I didn’t have to worry about their stilettos getting slurped into the mud.
Blake was atop a train for this and I was so nervous that a) he was going to fall; b) someone was going to see and call the cops. But then I was like, well, if he falls, maybe he’ll be knocked out long enough for me to steal his Chiodos shirt.
"Sarah, I only see you once a year, but I’d love to take your picture." And she didn’t think it was weird at all, which is why we’re friends in the first place.