Phew. That was a close one, eh? Yeah, I got Farah’s digits. The problem now is when do I call her. I called my buddy Jose, a skinny dude from Venezu...la, and he told me that two days was the mandatory time. What the fuck? Um, pardon my French, but who the hell made up that rule? I am not waiting two days to call up a hot chick. So many lame-ass dudes in Ottawa, Farah might run into some bozo named Mohammed or Abdullah or something and then forget all about me, the Bostonian Sensation. I decided. ‘Can’t handle the heat, stay outta the kitchen!’ Dan responded, flicking an eyebrow at me as he patted me on the back hard. He couldn’t believe he’d won, either. That was a bullshit Strike Spree at the end and we both knew it, but he knew it’d piss me off to gloat about it, so gloating about it was the only thing he did. He wore the same thing he always wore: Light denim jeans, a black t-shirt and an unbuttoned flannel. I’d told him it made him look like a Lumberjack or a hipster, but he didn’t. More

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