"No thanks, greasy fried chicken does not excite me."
Sam leaned back, rubbing with his fingertips at the knot of tension between his eyebrows. His head hurt, but it was a dull ache he'd had for weeks. Months.
...a long time.
He glanced at the screen and recognized Night of the Living Dead, groaning under his breath.
Sam started to speak, stopped, and tried again.
"Maybe... maybe I should," he admitted, his voice low, and a little tired. "You know what? I wish... I wish I could. Just forget everything and watch movies with you, like when we were kids. Before we knew everything we knew now."