*belatedly registers what you said before (butterin' up Mae Ellen) (you don't even know her) and realizes, with a detached sort of clarity, that you're jealous—of him? or David? or is it just everyone who's lucky and liked and making something of themselves?*
*flexes his fingers at his sides, the hairs at his nape prickling as he gauges the distance between them* Joe, you're drunk. Put the gun down, please.