The pseudo bohemian pot-smoker stood at the window of the upper floor apartment and gazed out into the mist. He itched his crotch thru the denim of his girl jeans.
"They fit better, dog," he would explain to his incredulous friends. This did not extinguish their mirth any. He didn't care. Yes he did. No he didn't. He did and he didn't. It was complicated. Deep down he knew it didn't matter.
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