Andy sat on his stool, hunched protectively over the box like an penguin huddled over his egg. He nervously drummed the cardboard, unsuccessfully trying to look cool and ironic in his shades and moustache rides t-shirt. The air was thick with grease and Journey.

“You were right. This was a bad idea. Let’s get outta here.”

“After helping you pack that thing?” Damien replied. “Jeez. I feel tainted just from knowing what kind of skeezy shit you watch when you’re alone. Plus, I just ordered fries.”

“I’ll pay for your fries and we can leave before she gets here. And some of this shit is ironic, I don’t actually watch it.”

“What does that even mean? How can it be ironic if you don’t watch it?”

“I mean, I’m not actually into some of this, I just bought it to be funny, so it’s ironic.”

”’You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.’”

“God, I hate this song.”

“I scored with Sara Schmidt to this song.”

“Jesus Christ, you were, what, nine?”