Re: Pat & Lou: boxes
It was a good thing Patrick was not dead, man, because the dude had mega unresolved issues about death and dying. He never forgot that he had been dead, and he never forgot that Con had somehow made him undead. He never forgot this truth, though you would never know it to look at the golden dude that breezed through the door and went straight for boxes and light manual labor. He possessed the golden good looks of his mom, but his grin was all Gunster as he regarded Adrian's cos. She had cheekbones that reminded him of his bro, and he hoped her arrival would be good for him.
He abandoned his approach to the cardboard boxes momentarily, just long enough to acquire a beer. The pizza waited. The dude was not into eating meat these days, which was a new thing recently acquired (or, rather, acquired since he had spent his time in a place where food was hunted and gathered). He popped the top of the sweating bottle, and he took a good sip and nodded as he put the bottle down. "The bed it is," he said agreeable, and he walked toward (what he believed to be) the bedroom. "I am like any other small town dude, my girl. I'm a Forest Ranger, and I like long walks on the beach." He winked and tossed his hoodie over a nearby box.