Slow Roll

We walk Nisa around the perimeter of the hotel, cajoling her into taking a poo, so we can sleep through the night without having to take her back out. Aaron dances about with the newly filled bag, and when he pretends to fling it at me, I say, “Slow your roll, dude.”
“What? Slow my roll?” He says.
“That’s right. Slow it.”
“That sounds like a legitimate saying.”
“Um. It is.”
“You didn’t just make it up?”
“NO. People say it all the time.”
“Yeah? In what DECADE?”
“This one, dumbass. It’s like, a popular saying said by popular people.”
“Okay,” he says, then: “Catch!”

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