Publish (or perish the thought).

“Because she’s a gold digger.”

I try not to turn around and stare at the four guys behind me. They are drinking draft beers and gathered around a low table.

“She’s a gold digging bitch and, get this, when I threw my birthday party last year, the one party (I think you’ll all remember) I’ve ever thrown the entire three years I’ve lived in New York—”

“What about your housewarming?”

“Fuck the housewarming. Doesn’t count. And that gold digger shows up and has the nerve, the absolute fucking balls, to ask me to apologize to her! And we all know that money was mine. You know, after the two thousand dollar she owes me, this is a big fucking joke. I mean, please.”

“What a bitch.”

“And you know what she’s been doing for the last two years.”

“Sucking dick?”

“No. Worse. Bitch wrote a fucking gold digging book.”

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