Still, I try to reply to all of them.
Trista Kinney:If you think BB-8 is the best droid, you’re dead wrong. He’s literally the pumpkin spice of droids.
Excuse me?
Did she just insult BB-8 and pumpkin spice in one blasphemous text? Who is this person?
I click on her profile and see an average-looking woman with a sparse feed.
I hit REPLY, and my thumbs fly across the screen.
Toxic:BB-8 is a literal ball of joy. He complements the droids that came before him without trying to compete, so your statement wouldn’t bother him one bit.
“Hey, do you think you could spot me?” Armando asks.
I look up to see him wiping his hands on a filthy rag.
“Sure thing, man.”
We head to the bench press we have set up outside. It’s not the ideal place to work out, but sometimes the towns we perform in lack the typical gyms we frequent.
“You got this!” I tell him. “Come on, three more. You got it. Two more!”
He huffs as he completes the set, but finishes strong. I hand him a water bottle once the bar is racked, which he chugs in one big gulp.
“How’s your momma doing?” he asks.
Being my best bus friend, Armando and I confide in each other things we typically don’t to the other Hunks. It’s not that I don’t trust the others. I just don’t like people knowing my business.
“A little scared, but she’s praying through it.”
“I know this probably won’t make you feel any better, but her situation is common, and she’s in good hands.”
“Yeah, I hear you, man. That’s what I keep telling myself, but it feels good hearing it from you.”
“If you’d like to take some days off and need cover, I’m here for you.”
We swap positions and he spots me for a few sets, then I get in line for the shower.
Jacek comes up to me, and I notice a hopeful glint in his eye. “Hey, man. I was wondering if you might want to hang out after the show tonight.”
“Let me guess: Natasha won’t let you take the Corolla?”
“It’s like she thinks she?—”
“Owns it?” I interject.
“It belongs to Carl,” he argues.
“She’s not trying to be a bitch, but it’s a bus resource, and she has to make sure it’s available if anyone needs to run out to get something for the show.”
He signs in frustration. “Bus life sucks.”
“I get that you want to hook up after a show, but you don’t need a car to scratch that itch.”
“Dude, I’m not going to plow chicks in the venue bathrooms like you do.”
“That was a one time thing,” I say, annoyed at the mere mention of that night.
