The screen door slams, Mary’s dress … what? — Thunder Road, Bruce Springsteen I don’t remember when the argument began. We’ve been friends for so long now that, at some point, we’ve lost all of the beginnings. Half the things we say to each other now would not make sense to anyone else because they are inside jokes inside of inside jokes inside of inside jokes. Heck, they barely make sense to us anymore. Just unpacking why we reenact the “champagne cocktails” scene in Godfather II every time we see each other would take a 30 for 30 documentary or at least a long oral history.