"Oh God, that was terrible. You know I grew up there, right? Well not Texas, but New Mexico." Troy laughed. "I'm sorry, but that's just funny, because the word staccato would never make me think of gunfire. Like ever. In fact, gunfire is never what I think of unless I'm reading an article about... surprise surprise... gunfire."
He snorted. "Maybe. I haven't been around enough, I guess, and now I'll have to watch and see, which is kind of creepy, because this is Kinney we're talking about. I feel like I'm catching something just by talking to him," he said, chuckling. "Has he always been like this or is this some kind of withdrawal?"
Troy rolled his eyes. "I don't know about her, but really finding people to fuck was not on my list of things to do in between gun safety class and Behavioral Science, and if we keep eating this much, we'll have to buy more," he said as he attacked the chicken. "I'm going to have to learn how to cook, either that or I really have to find a wife," he said with a grin. "Do you think she'd be upset about that statement?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't really care what I do, but send me the list anyway, I can see what I know, what I don't, what needs to be improvised, other than everything. You'll probably get more volunteers if you send the list early, though. People don't often think they can think something, but then they see a song and go 'Yes, I can do that', but then they still need time to psyche themselves up, at least that's been my experience with the less professional crowd. The not cool crowd you have at Juilliard," he said with a grin.