Now quit moping.” “I’m not moping,” Reggie insisted, sulkily. “Umm, can we have fruit snacks?” Dylan asked, still enraptured by the TV. �...When did you have lunch?” I asked. “I dunno,” Dylan shrugged. “Dylan. Look at me and answer my question,” I instructed. “Huh? Um. I think almost three hours ago,” Dylan was able to provide once he tore his attention away from the TV. “Fine, you can have fruit snacks,” I nodded. “Yesss,” Dylan hissed, and did a rather theatrical celebratory fist pump. Dylan was. He didn’t take any offense when I told him, in the formal version of the language his family uses to conducts business, that I worked very hard over the last year to get my body looking like this and wasn’t going to mess with what was working well for me. Alcohol and cigars were not part of the regimen. After the pleasantries he got right down to business.“Darren, I’m impressed by the general thought of the ideas you proposed to the old man, but I can’t quite wrap my head around it. I’m sure. More

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