She looked at the pen clipped to his shirt. He always wore one there, below his first and second button, a good-luck talisman.
“I notice that you almost always have a pen there,” she said. “Why do you do that?”
He grinned. “Well, it’s not a pen.”
“It’s not? It looks like one.”
“It’s a sophisticated recording device. Links to my phone. I’m always recording everything happening to me, around me, you know, just in case.” He shrugged, noting her incredulous expression. “Just part of the times, you know?”
He picked up his beer and sipped it, debating, should he tell her he was joking?
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