It made him sad for a second, his son mimicking more than one of his traits while he was drunk. He probably didn't even realize it. How often had he dry swallowed, or crunched the pills he took for headaches? He couldn't bury that this was his fault. Even if he hadn't been there. "Ah, he was probably just worried, and now he sees that you're in good hands. Or his food bowl is empty." Was it a she? What was it's name. He resisted the grunt of frustration that was on the edge of his teeth.
"Oh, I have a couple stories started, and some meat of others. Ideas that woke me up at three am. Nothing I have finished yet, but I haven't been here that long." He looked around Dan's room to see if the tablet that had all his books, and screen plays and theater plays written in it was laying around anywhere.