Trevor had been having a horrible day, hell, he’d had a horrible year. He had been grasping at curvaceous, effeminate straws for what felt like his entire post-pubescent life. For a while, he didn’t care. And maybe he still didn’t, or maybe he just kept telling himself that, for fear of being disappointed yet again by some blonde bimbo boring him to tears over her anecdote about the perils of figuring out which side of the street to move her car to during a Snow Emergency. So “fuck it”, he thought.
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