"That was . . . well executed, Blundell. How did you know where that card was?"
* * * * * * * * * *
Some people need ellipses to give compliments and other people are not me and Lindsay. There's something inside me that causes me to feel that giving a compliment is a zero sum game in which I'm losing a piece of myself every time. It's probably why I'm so afraid of being earnest. When I ran a warehouse on the Netscape campus back in the 90s, I would sometimes play Pink Floyd's The Wall and just weep amid the racks.
Ha ha! No I didn't! I can't believe you believed that! So gullible! I actually used to listen to that album and mutter, "Pussy." Then I'd shotgun a whisky and do fifty push-ups while thinking about all the ladies with whom I'd had sex and nobody ever walked into the warehouse calling my name wondering why it was taking me so long to emerge from deep within the warehouse and why my face was wet. It was from the sweat of doing so many push-ups!
Anyway, I wish I were better at complimenting people! I suppose I would have complimented Miles in this case because, personally, it would cost me nothing. "Good job making ten dollars off of that man afraid that you were going to pull the whole systemically racist architecture of America down on top of his head!" I would have shouted while patting him fraternally on the back.
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