Like sexually? Or like beat up?

What the fuck.

Whatever that means.

Uncontrollable sneezing.

God fucking damn it, man.

More like a '03 Chevy Impala. But yeah. I'm here.

... With a shitbox? Yeah, no. Detroit. Doin' a job with my brother.

I would, but I got socked in the jaw and talkin' hurts.

Have you ever seen an impala? Not fun. Cold. And stupid. And I got shot at. A lot. I'm on a break from the music shit.

Yeah, yeah. A beer. Please.

"Thanks." Grabbing it, taking a hefty swig. Drawing a little sad face in the condensation left behind on the bar top. "Can I buy you one, or is that like not allowed?"

"Vodka. Tequila makes my ..." He shouldn't tell this guy tequila makes his tummy hurt. He'll look like a fairy. "Head feel like a bomb went off in it."

"Henry it is. I miss my mom, too." There's a little twinkle in his eye as he tosses back the shot. It burns good, like the memory. "Nice to meet you."

All quiet on the frontal lobe.

Because I love you.

Aw. You said it back.

Please just kill me.

Watching out of the corner of his eye.