"You look like a writer," he says warmly through the checkered scarf covering his face, as he guides me through a three-part power handshake.
"You look like a rapper."
"Then I failed," he says with a shrug, eyes, hand, and warmth dropping as he opens the front door, hustles in from the cold, and loses the scarf in the marble lobby.
Hands down, I was like alright so this doode's got some moves on Details. Then the more I read into his article, I was like what an arrogant son of a bitch ha.
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