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They were two men divided They were two men divided by their choice of meat: Weiss fondled his chicken sandwich, no mayo, while Vaughn stroked a fillet o’fish swathed in tartar sauce. This wasn’t about lifestyle—their friendship was at stake. Weiss eyed Vaughn’s fillet. “Uh, you won’t accept a guy’s tongue in your mouth and you’re gonna eat that?” “You’re jealous of my metabolism.” “You’re eating bits of fish molded together,” Weiss said. “It’s the plywood equivalent of fish.” “You bet I am,” Vaughn replied, wetting his lips as he leaned in. “Besides . . . who says I wouldn’t accept a guy’s tongue?”
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