"I've never been," he admitted. "To the sea, that is. Til now. I mean, I've been down to Florida for conferences and stuff but I never had time to check out the beaches or anything and I've been to New Orleans, but it was for Mardi Gras and I was too retarded drunk to enjoy anything other than boobs and beads," he laughed. Immediately, he blushed a little and wrinkled his nose. Too much information, he thought. "Sorry, sometimes I ramble..." he apologized.
"In any case," he went on, trying to get back on track, "maybe I should sneak up to the deck between your classes - so I'm not interrupting - and check out the view and the sounds. Closest I've ever gotten is those nature sounds CDs that are supposed to help you sleep but really only make you have to pee."
Micah closed his mouth with a snap and grimaced, closing his eyes as well. "Shut up, Mike," he chastised himself with a laugh as he looked back at her apologetically. Again, too much information. "See? This is why I hide in my room. I am socially retarded," he laughed.
He nodded and took another drink as she went on talking. "Ah so that's not too bad, then; two," he replied. "A little bit of both, I meant. If there's, like, a lot of people in your class, do you ever get tired when you have to move around correcting their positions?" he asked. During his internship, before he'd been allowed one-on-one interaction with the patients, he'd had to help in group therapy-type sessions and those had been exhausting, going from one person to the next to correct posture and aid in movement. Micah far preferred one-on-one once he'd had a taste of it.