Mason ground his teeth together at the sort of cheap parting shot. It was a low blow and if he wasn’t already on thin ice and didn’t want to see what solitary looked like on his second day here, he’d have punched the fucker right across his shitting, stolen face.
“I’d not be so sure about that,” he snarled back, “we were born in the Deep South. You don’t sound to me like you’ve got any Louisiana in you. Maybe you should ask your parents why they’d get rid of only one kid and not two?”
He got to his feet and stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving his tray on the table.