Someday, there would be a clear evening in St. John's. Today was not that day - or that night. (
Spoiler: tomorrow might be.) The rain was light, though, the temperature in the mid-40's for you Fahrenheit-speaking heathens, and around 7°C for normal people
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Ben, Topher and Tony approached the spa's front desk. "Hi," Ben said nervously. "He'd--" sorry, Topher, how do you like it under that bus, "like to get his chest waxed."
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Just so everyone was on the same page.
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"But we're starting with him," he said, pointing back at Topher. "Reverse alphabetical order by first name! Topher, Tony, Ben."
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But soon enough he was being led over to a weird table and told to climb up on it and take his shirt off, which he did, awkwardly.
"This feels weird," he observed loudly. Just in case they weren't aware.
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The spa worker gave him a "the hell we will" look.
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Hey, look! Concern for someone else's well-being! That was new.
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Topher did not care for this waxing arrangement. He was also trying to turn on his side to get a good look at Tony, but the waxist steered him back into place and told him to hold still.
Topher sulked.
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Ahahahahaha.
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Duh, Topher.
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That did seem like the more logical thing to do.
"You never answered about why you're so crabby today," he reminded Ben.
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