[Reaction]
[Almost laughed when this began. Knew. Knew. Knew who it was. While he was experiencing it, something at the back of his head knew. It was the camp. The prisoners. The war. Was somewhere in the Carriage House, and he was snarling. For the whole memory, he snarled. Felt the hunger, the helplessness, the strange sensation of not being right. Felt it. Knew who it was. Came to himself with hands braced on the counter. Was still snarling. Jaw hurt. Christ. How many of these could a person endure?
Thought of letters. Thought of how much Janus hated people reading the words of the dead. Didn't think this would make the man feel many better. Where were his cigarettes? Needed his fucking cigarettes.]