All they needed was a sign above them that said scared shitless. Oh, that just wouldn't be fair. It's déclassé to say the least. I'll lose him if I tell him that.
Three hundred dollars, or more, for a very orange formal that I'd burn before I'd wear again, or less than a hundred dollars to rent a tux that I could return. He gave me a small shake, his face raw with emotion. He was trying to decide if I was lying. Why, why would you tell me? To watch your face, I said, and my voice was soft, and not altogether pleasant.
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