"I think they are too...there's some crossover, probably, but I think yours are less, uh." What was a good word there? Neal's painkiller-addled brain could think of it, albeit a bit slower than usual. Everything was foggy and still cottony; he forgot he had a hole in his side on most occasions and just drifted off to darkness that was void of his usual soap opera dreams. "...yours are less stupid." There, that was good.
Fishing too. Fishing was good. Come to think of it, he hadn't been in awhile either. "It'll come back to you, right?" he said. "People can fish with one hand." There had to be stuff designed for that sort of situation. "Or you can just lounge while I do the fishing. Then you can do the gutting."