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The Drunken Russian says something about Martini. Martini? He went right back to bed after our earlier fiasco. They seem interested in meeting him, so I go wake him up, thinking that he’s going to go right back to sleep afterwards.

Downstairs playing quarters, and Martini has already begun with his annoyances. He’s holding the quarter, trying to talk to Broadway, and won’t give it up so that the game continue…

The Drunken Russian: “Give up the quarter, Martini.”

He keeps talking to Broadway as if The Drunken Russian doesn’t exist…

The Drunken Russian: “Martini, pass the quarter!”

Martini doesn’t even look in The Drunken Russian’s direction. He’s about to blow a blood vessel…

The Drunken Russian: “GOD FUCKING DAMMIT, MARTINI!!! GIVE ME THE FUCKING QUARTER BEFORE I BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECK!!!”

Me? I just relax. I know that Martini is in his own world, and won’t listen to anyone, let alone acknowledge them when his mind is elsewhere. That, and you don’t really want to lose your composure. Once a guy like Martini knows that he can get to you, he’ll continue to do it just to get under your skin. I ask him nicely, get up, walk over, and he gives me the quarter…

Broadway: “Why do you guys hate him so much?”

Oh, you’ll see soon enough, sweetheart…

Broadway: “You can’t just be mean to people just because you don’t like them.”

Soon enough.

Martini then starts talking about penis size to Broadway. I know to just keep my mouth shut…