He could say awful. Awful was true. He could say there was a guilt that was eating at the core of him that constantly made him doubt who he was as a person. He could say that whenever he tried - and he was trying every single day - to put some good back into the world, he couldn't shake the image of Lust twisting her hand in his hair. Couldn't shake the knowledge that he'd traded the chance to save a soul for... well, for Lust twisting her hand in his hair.
And that everything had been broken, since.
Yeah sure. No way never was Much going to admit to any of that. "Oh, man, heaps," he said, after trying to hide his thoughts behind a deep drink of the refreshing, icy tea. "Hurricane aside there's work, but that's just work; drinks, people, stories - always something new. Always heaps to do at the soup kitchen too, and round the church. We had a barbecue down the soup kitchen a couple days ago and some idiot tried to cook their hand, look," he said, uncurling his hand from around the cold glass to hold out his palm and show her the burn. It wasn't a bad one, though it did still feel warm enough that the glass against it felt good. "Did you know if you leave metal tongs on a barbeque they get hot?"