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“You sure you wanna do that?” Angelina asked ominously. “That water might be worse than the teq.” Miguel set the glass in front of me and walked off. I shrugged. “If I’m not going to win either way...,” I said, taking a healthy swig of the water. Time folded into itself, with Angelina and I chatting away. We covered almost every topic imaginable, from pets to music to sports to politics...just everything. Finally, the conversation turned to relationships, and more specifically, her marriage to Billy Bob Thornton. “Man...,” she started contemplatively, looking into her empty glass, having just polished off her fourth shot in an hour and a half. “Everyone’s got a fuckin’ opinion about us. They just have to speculate it so much. First of all, it’s none of their goddamned business. That’s foremost. But then, even if it was, they don’t know. They’re not there, and they don’t see the things in him that I do. I’m a big girl, I can handle a relationship, and Jesus Christ, I’m aware of how much older than me he is. But the question is, do I give a fuck? The answer, you can guess, is no. I don’t.”
I nodded, understanding perfectly. “Gotta do what trips your trigger.” “Exactly,” she said. “And Billy Bob trips the living hell out of MY trigger.” She paused, fiddling with a paper coaster, soaked with condensation, that lay on the counter. “What I really love about him is that he’s fun. He’s such a fun guy. I mean, never a boring moment around him. He’s just crazy. And he’s not judgmental. He accepts everything about me. Everything I am. Hell, everything I’ve DONE.”