Ten dollars, no matter how you look at it, is not a lot of dosh. Sure, it might go further considering there arenât any T*co B*lls around here, but 10 US dollars wouldnât even last the most responsible of people any longer than like, 2 days tops. So naturally, thereâs only one thing for it. After heading to the local unnamed art supply store that definitely doesnât rhyme with Fichealâs and spending his money wisely, Deadpool heads back to the best place to meet new people. The street. On said street is a very surprisingly well crafted booth made of cardboard, decorated with some glitter, colored paper, and a few smears of red that look like they might have been intended to be lips. Atop the booth is a sign, handwritten in what looks like a childâs best attempt to be neat the words âKISSING BOOTHâ as well as a mason jar and a smaller sign that reads â50 cents or whatever the fuck heck dang currency here is.â
  âKisses!â His voice rings out, though not as loudly as him banging on a stainless steel pot with a rock. Honestly, he looks like a spandexâd out caveman, but heâs doing his best. âFifty cents a kiss, five bucks for me to stop banging on this thing for long enough to get away from the sound! Ten bucks for me to shut up for a whole three minutes! Kissing booth! Come get your kisses while theyâre hot and fresh!â Heâs so loud, and there are quite a few coins in his jar already, though itâs safe to assume theyâre all from passersby requesting some peace and quiet rather than kisses.
