Me: (points at bindi on Daryl’s forehead) Were you at a wedding?

Daryl: That’s a pimple, you asshole.

Daryl: My friends are in LA.

Me: Why didn’t you go with them?

Daryl: I didn’t want to go, so I said I’m in Florida.

Me: …Hurricane Irma….

Daryl: Yeah, my story wasn’t that well planned.

Me: I saw a taco costume.

Daryl: Going barhopping. Needs to be lightweight. And I ain’t a vagina.

Daryl: Fell asleep on the train and now I’m in Bronte.

Daryl: Where the fuck is Bronte.

Daryl: What do you feel like? Sushi? Pho?

Me: Hurt.

Daryl: Message me if you need back up.

Daryl: I’ll run up on her.

Daryl: Drive by.

Daryl: Hood shit.

Daryl: Uzis.

Daryl: No AKs.

Daryl: But glocks.

Me: Love you too.

Me: I’ll go if you go.

Daryl: Come! I got your back if you smack her.

Daryl: We’ll start a bar fight, break glass bottles and hold the place up.

Daryl: Fuck children. Down to have pets ’til I die.

Daryl: Apology not accepted.

Me: Don’t be a lil bitch.

Daryl: The only solution is for me to murder him, of course.