Re: phonecall: frank/connie
[He huffed something like a laugh when she smacked herself on the forehead.] You want to blame that, go to town. Probably you drank too much coffee as a kid, s'what I think.
[These interludes with Connie were good, somehow. They didn't change anything in his life, they didn't make anything right, and pretending to be just a person doing the things people did made him tired, most times. But it got him outside his own head, that pretending. There weren't many times that happened anymore.] Don't talk shit. I worked hard for my weather degree.
[The loud noises of delight about the sandwich culled a small smile. It reminded him of his kids, all this domestic shit, making sandwiches and cracking jokes. That had been what he almost said while he was at the counter. Daisy, she hated mustard too, couldn't stand the stuff even on somebody else's sandwich, always asked daddy to scrape it off if he sat down next to her with a sandwich that had it on, nose like a goddamn bloodhound.
He picked up the sandwich and took a vicious bite while she tried to figure out how to attack her own.] You got a pretty good opinion of me. [Rough and almost surprised. She just didn't know.] The kind that tears people to shreds. Not the friendly kind that likes cookies too much. [Another bite of the sandwich, and he shook his head when she asked what he knew.] Yeah, sure, I heard about the experiment shit before I got here. But that was drugs. This was real. [He tore a chunk off the side of the sandwich.] Least. I think so. [Not being able to trust what he saw or heard? Not his favorite.]