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“Okay, stop me if you’ve heard this,” BJ says with a laugh, holding his hands up in mock surrender as the lines around his dark eyes crumple up like a wad of used paper. “A Jew, a Rabbi, and a Priest, walk into a bar—”
“What? Not again? Is he really going to tell us the same fuckin’ joke again?” Moe asks Sid with a moan. “And how many times I gotta tell you, Beej?” he says, almost imploring. “A Rabbi is a fuckin’ Jew! Am I wrong, Sid?”
“Nope. You’re not wrong about that one,” Sid says with a slow shake of his head; he’s looking as distracted as he sounds. Sid’s the tallest of the three, and with his turban he looks even taller. He makes certain that his turban always matches his tie.
“From what I remember about yesterday—and it was yesterday we heard it, wasn’t it?” Moe asks.
“Yesterday,” Sid agrees, looking at the black numbers on the glossy white doors of the hallway they’re in.
“Just like the day before, the day before that, and, the day before
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