“I just bumped the garage door a b-bit,” he said. “It barely bent.”
“That sounds like the bad news to me,” I said, getting to my feet and dusting the dirt off my hands.
“Well,” he shuffled his feet in a parody of agony, “the bad news is actually that the door is stuck half way open because Tony wanted to see if it would still work.”
I tried to level him with a stare, but realized he has grown taller than me. “Let’s stroll down there and I’ll take a look. Do Tony’s folks know?”
. . .
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