come over for dinner today.

Anyone know a ‘ buckaroonie ‘ ?

Me?

where are you even getting these from?

( tilts his head slightly. ) what was that?

the thing that — ( he inspects the kid’s hand position. ) — what’s in your hand?

( pinches his nose. ) why do i bother.

. . . you’ve got a list of these things goin’, don’t you?

— sunday afternoons.

yeah. for once, thinking that might be a good thing.

reading, napping. watching TV, sometimes.

you mean you wanna do both?

* looks up, glaring *

if anyone disturbs steve while he’s napping, they’ll have to answer to 𝘮𝘦 .

it was the damn bag. too flimsy.

( sighs again. ) “ whatever, kid. what are ya anyway, photographer for the paper? ”

“ then why take it in the first place? ” he huffs.

“ ‘m not a superhero. now i better not see it in the bugle, or that camera’s gettin’ smashed to pieces next time i see it. ”

“ that’s just cause everyone else was lookin’ at me to help. ” he lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. “ all right then. have a good one. ” and with that, he begins to part.

can’t trust a brit after all.