"Crappy like ... you know. They're bad kids, man." Clint thought it made perfect sense. He wasn't talking about whether or not they were good at what they were or did -- just their behavior in general. It was crappy.
Clint lifted his arm (and really, it was stinging something awful when he moved it to rub at his head, which was probably a bad move, because Jamie had just gotten all the blood off of him, but he couldn't help himself. "Wait," he said after what was possibly too long a time, "What?" got a thing for?
Too damn late, apparently, since Jamie was out the damn door and Clint's only answer was silence. "Aw, fuck," he said, to the empty room.
Maybe he should go. That'd be wise. Smart even. Because -- there was stuff to do today. Things to take care of. Things to not think about. Maybe both.
The plan to leave was a great one. Which really didn't explain why he flopped back down on the bed, rolled over and closed his eyes instead.