Of course, like it wasn't even a consideration, as though it were not a miraculous series of events. Dean's lopsided smile. Don Juan's mouth fluttered in response, a smile with the motion of a butterfly's wings. The opium had left him shaky, now that it was gradually releasing him from lethargy.

"You're my favorite person," he announced. He attempted a steadier smile; if he was drunk instead of high he would have beamed. "Favorite living person. If we include the dead ones there're a few writers who might nudge you out."

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