"Amazing might be a bit of a stretch," Abi said with a smile on her lips. His enthusiasm and smile were infectious; there was just some kind of mutual respect for the written word beyond what Abi had imagined. It was wonderful. "I find that writing poetry means you inevitably put form before meaning, just from practicing. Or maybe that's because mine were god-awful."
"You are a cheeky shit, Hemingway. I'll make you a deal; if you beat me in this shot thing, I'll answer one question you have about your writing. Do we have a deal?" Abi held out her hand for him to shake. "Can you tell I used to hang out in fraternities and not the girls?"
Another look and she was set. It didn't take much for her competitive side going but he brought out that passion in her. "Well, Ernest ," She emphasised, "Let's get this show on the road..." She waited for Gatsby to get all the shots lined up for them and hoped that one of them would help her home safe afterwards.