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    Summary

    “I can’t go to Europe,” Mike says, like ripping off a bandaid.

    Richie momentarily considers dropping his phone in the tub to kill it, and then he remembers that it is 2017 and phones are like, waterproof now. Steve Jobs might be dead, but Richie curses him regardless.

    “What the fuck, man?” he says, a little too high pitched. “Is it you Bill is divorcing? Are you his lawyer? How are these two related in any way? You can’t just—”

    “Bill needs me, Richie.” Mike’s voice is gentle but firm, like that makes any sense.

    “Dude, what am I going to do for 3 months? I’ve got no gigs coming up, no media appearances. Everything's on hold.”

    A pause. Then Mike says, “What are you talking about, man? Eddie is still going.”

     

    OR

    Richie and Eddie try to collectively figure out their shit. In Europe!

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