“But he’s Down Syndrome!”

“What of it?”

“Cmon, he can’t be here; the customers… they’ll find him strange… an odd fella.”

“For what? How his handsome face looks; how he smiles on constant; how he doesn’t have a harmful part in his body; or how he gives us six packs from laughing?”

“Just how he talks.”

“He talks the same as you and I, Charlie, only far more intelligent.”

“How’d you figure that one, Sherlock? He knows nothing.”

“That’s right, everything we know is corrupt anyway. He won’t talk about the pointless things in life; he won’t grab the nearest girl’s ass like you and I do and expect something from her.”

“C’mon, he need not be here, really.”

“I fucking swear, if you ever again ask me to leave my only brother behind in the car I’ll smash your face.”

“Then maybe we’re not supposed to be mates.”

“Damn fucking right we’re not. Tommy and I are gonna go surfing for real chicks, chicks who own some kind of a heart.”

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