Jim knew, in a general sort of way, that he talked too much, mostly because other people kept telling him that. And he'd even learned how to notice the little social cues of boredom, or at least the slightly shell-shocked look people got when he hauled out references to German theologians before they'd had their coffee. Unfortunately, knowing that didn't really help; he felt antsy and uneasy sometimes if he didn't talk an idea all the way through to its conclusion, so these days he just tried to pick indulgent friends. "Okay, you get me. And sorry, sometimes I feel like I should wear a button that says 'it's totally okay to interrupt me if I start rambling.'"
He had no idea what day it was, and therefore no clue when he'd last eaten. Maybe that was a secondary purpose of the IV, but he was definitely hungry now, and Madison seemed to be competent in the kitchen. "Well, if the urge ever takes you, you've got a confessor in the house. There probably won't be much of a lineup. And I've been talking about myself way too much, you gotta tell me things now. You're from Boston, are you still living there now? What do you do for a living?"