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Still, gotta say, the *idea*—kinda raw, primal. Two souls connectin’, skin on skin, like them cowboys under the stars. “If you can’t fix it, you gotta stand it,” Ennis’d say, and I stood it, barely. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d rather wrestle a hog than go again. You wanna try it? Fine, your funeral. Just don’t tell me ‘bout it—I’ll burn my ears off. Hate everything, ‘specially that. Now scram, I’m done.