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"Hey! Hey, you in the sweatshirt! How much do you weigh?"

"Me? Oh, uh... one seventyish, I think?"

"Perfect. C'mere." *college athlete starts benchpressing Jamie*

0632-------------------------------------
(Tuesday afternoon, INT: MH's apartment, living room)

JH: Why can't you just say "I owe ya one" and leave it at that?
MH: I don't want to owe you one.
JH: I have already received benefit for my actions insofar as you are happy and safe. That is what liking people means.
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JH: Although, come to think of it... I don't suppose you'd happen to have any men's clothing in my size, do you?
MH: Oh! I totes do! Big guys are always giving me oversized sweatshirts and jackets to remember them by. I've got a bigass hoodie that would be perfect for you.
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JH: That works. Gimme that, we'll call it even.
MH: It may not actually be mine to give away, come to think of it. If the silk screening is to be believed, the sweatshirt is property of the university athletic department.
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JH: I've always assumed those "property ofs" refer to the person wearing the garment in question.
MH: Mm. Better be careful where you wear it, then, I guess.