“The fuck? I bled for this already!” Sean hurled the New York Times across the room, narrowly missing his agent. “Why are they trying to cut me?”
“Another bad review?” John was calm behind his coffee mug.
“Fuckers don’t see art when you wave it in their faces.” Stalking to the window, Sean crossed his arms.
“It’s a critic, Sean,” coffee slurps.
“People listen to critics,” Sean grated.
“People listen to Oprah.”
“Remember what you told me when you got your first bad review twelve years ago?”
“Fuck it. I cut like a buffalo.”
John smirked. “Right on.”