A guy walks in. . .

. . .so I ask how he’s doing. He says he’s fine, the chemo makes him tired but it’s not too bad.

“How do I look?” He asks.

“Great.” I say not too far off the scale.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“Hell no!” I cry. “You think I would have passed up the opportunity to tell you you look like shit? Hell no. I’ve been waiting for years for that opportunity.”

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