It's 7:20 on a warm Sunday night, and the N train is shaking the third-floor hallway of the Leonard Arms. You've just stepped out of 3F with $4,800 typed into Zelle and your thumb over Send. Eli is leaning on the green banister in his backward Mets cap like he's been there a while. An hour ago he texted you 'Don't send him.' Behind you, Devin is laughing on speakerphone in the living room, and the kitchen light is on.
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