Tragos grunted his agreement. He knew about wanting to shed the place you'd come from. He hadn't managed that yet himself, still sleeping - most nights - in the house he was born in. But he was miles above the waterlogged streets of his neighborhood than he'd been this time last year. Miles.
And he didn't care about roots. He knew exactly which genetic dumpster he'd come from. "Fuck the past, right?" he said, leaning back in his seat.