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He locked me out of the store. We had a thing going.
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Um, oh, and then there's Vlad,
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My obese, Eastern European doorman guy.
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He's always like, "Vat is your name?"
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But, like, he knows my name.
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Then there's the newspaper kiosk dude across the street
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Who, like, totally knows that I always go with the Post,
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But, like, sometimes, I'll fake the post
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And then I'll go with Rolling Stone.
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He loves that.
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I don't remember his name. I think it's Hiram.
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It...it sounds like you haven't actually made any friends.