Klein the writer.
Klein the uncle.
Klein the man with work-roughened hands.
Klein my client.
Klein my fake boyfriend.
Klein
K l ei n
K L E I N
This is what I’m wearing for the wedding ceremony.
Your picture-taking is worse than Oliver’s.
Rude.
You cut off your head.
That was on purpose.
You didn’t want me to see your face? You are aware I already know what you look like, right?
Maybe I’ve been wearing a mask this whole time, like in the movies. The kind that go around my whole head and neck and part of my chest.
Weird way for you to ask me to put my hand down your shirt, but ok.
If you put your hand on my chest and yank on my skin, I will poke you in the eyes at the same time I karate chop your windpipe.
Don’t test me. I took a self-defense class, so I am, in fact, certified in eye poking and windpipe chopping.
I’m terrified.
Lovely. That’s right where I want you.
I’m playing in a soccer match next Thursday. It’s supposed to be friendly, but it’s more of a grudge match. Young Bucks versus Dad Bods. Do you want to come watch?
After Oliver bragged about your skills? I’d be a fool to decline.
Bring the foam finger.
Will do. Do you like the dress?
Does it matter if I like the dress?
No, but I need to be told it looks good on me. My sister isn’t answering her phone right now.
The dress doesn’t look good on you…
YOU make the dress look good.
KLEIN THE STRIPPER you are THISCLOSE to a windpipe chop.
