Bobby Quinn’s Levi's are always freshly laundered and ironed. His tee shirts are new, pure white, impeccable, and he rolls up the sleeves in neat bands to better display his bulging biceps. Everybody loves Bobby. They fall over themselves trying to be near him, they want to be seen with him, they want him to be their friend. Why? Because he’s so COOL!
Everything Bobby does is natural, effortless. He’s always at ease, supremely confident. He does not fear making a mistake because he never makes mistakes. His instincts are unerring. I never see him embarrassed by anything, never hear him stutter, or hesitate, or look uncomfortable. He cracks jokes, and they’re genuinely funny. Everything he says is amazingly correct, or humorous, or just perfectly right.
Bobby used to go to St. Xavier’s. He sat in the last desk of the first row, right by the window. He never disguised his contempt for the nuns, their fearful Jesuit masters, and the entire Holy Roman Catholic Church. He was perhaps the youngest blasphemer that particular parish ever encountered.
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