There are Christmas mornings, and then there are Christmas mornings like this one: watching my brother, Rhys, swagger through our New York City apartment...smiling. We are talking about Rhys, the detached, surly and annoying; the man who turned brooding into an art form. But he's not brooding now. No, he's practically threatening to pistol whip me for shaking hands with the beautiful, sweet, half-dressed creature...
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