It's easy to see how painfully disappointed Declan is, sketching on an Applebee's napkin the floor plan of the place he is going to build for people to go to when they realize that sex gets boring, even when it's with with the pretty girls who have collagen-filled lips and seemingly no fear of having to wear adult diapers thirty years prematurely or with the chiseled boys who are dumber than wheelbarrow handles. Megan Fox, Mariah Carey, Lady GaGa, all siren arbiters of the biologically entrenched, illusory distraction, but Declan will invent a utopian harbor to house those left disillusioned in its wake.
There's only one problem: what exactly could Declan offer those people?
It's like when he outgrew the Ninja Turtles and, looking out upon a sprawling frontier of empty time, had no recollection of how it was filled before.
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