“Because I found that out before Trevor painted his subjects’ dicks and he fucked them. He was getting laid almost every day from a different guy.”
They both laughed, unable to control themselves. The laughter was hearty and obnoxious, but neither cared. After the laughter subdued, Fargo asked, “What’s your tale? Tell me. I want to hear it.”
Chip confessed, “It isn’t anything like yours. That artist story you told was wild. I can’t compete with it.”
“My story is true. Google has proven that. Trevor Tevor was insane, and I was better off without him. God only knows what he’s doing now. Not that I really care. I’m sure Google can paint a picture of his recent life, but as I said, I don’t care to know it.”