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ā championship rings ? ā he says the words as if he's just been accused of keeping peacocks in his backyard. ā boy , donāt start that mess on my porch. mamaās got one of ' em somewhere holdin' down a stack of essays , and the rest are probably wherever my people decided theyād photograph nice. ā he looks amused at his own statement , the way he understands it , even his people have people these days.
the laugh still comes easier than it has in weeks. beau has that effect without trying ; standing there all grown and polished with the family name sitting on him like good tailoring , emblematic of everything angelo has missed. it suits beau and for a second , angelo catches himself looking for the boy who used to hang around the edges of things , waiting to be included. the years sure have done their work. even so , itās beau. little brother by angelo's inheritance , whether anybody had said so out loud or not. he steps back to let him in , closing the door behind them.
ā i got back a couple days ago. quiet. which was the whole point , before you started threateninā me with food , drinks , and half the town breathinā in my foyer. got hella lucky too , got this house off the market real quick. ā his mouth pulls into something dry , fond. ā offensive wouldāve been lettinā your girl turn my private sanctuary into a catered - event. ā he doesn't even want to know if there's some insane free day off at the high school commemorating some championship game that feels like it's from several lifetimes ago.
he looks beau over again , a touch more scrutiny in his gaze. the weariness always comes. not reading it on beau just means he's better at hiding it. ā you though. suit , girl , accusations. got a whole life out here and aināt nobody send me the programme. ā he leads beau towards the lounge. ā you hungry ? come on. tell me what i missed. and donāt clean it up neither. i been gone too long for the polite version y'hear ? ā
he's gazing at her as she speaks , those giant dimples that squeezes his heart everytime it makes an appearance ( which is always ) is almost as warming as her laugh , he smiles faintly along , helpless to deny himself. " i suppose she's heralded my kelly rowland era. i mean i did envision myself as the swashbuckling assist arriving in the nick of time , but when you put it that way , " a hand smoothes down her arm , squeezes. he can't help himself.
the laugh that follows is an abrupt - startled thing , " you joke , but that might actually have happened. it's so much worse now. see last time she was that young cool aunt with the impressive taste in liquor and weed , now it's like she's gone mental. got a chip on her shoulder , complains about everything , gets indignant about the smallest fuckin' things . . . dunno what's wrong with her , it's like she's perimenopausal or something , " it's a joke , he is joking , and only too late does he realise how male he sounds in the moment ā eyes widen slightly , " oh. " he's about to formulate some sort of apology or expression of remorse when what he's said sinks in further , the likely accuracy of it ā eyes widen further still , hands make a tent over his mouth , looking at aria like he needs her to tether his soul to earth , since it's clearly leaving his body , " ohhhhhhh . . . oh no. must've been why she had a meltdown about the electric barbecue. nearly took my eye out over it. okay definitely not crazy i didn't mean that. it all makes sense now. "
he blows air out of his cheeks , flapping a hand at the colour that's crept up his neck. " discovering many things today . " his lips purse and he slants his head , " you wanted your own little spot . makes sense. yeah i quite like juniper , reno's all done , finally got the art in , nice bar like we always talked about. my collection's grown by the way. started paying attention when i travelled. shaping up to be very . . . comfortable , " he finishes with a slight spread to his lips as his fingers toy with the ridge on his lower . " yeah . . . i'd like that. but only if i can make a dish of my own. it'll be simple. "
walking the hallowed halls of the university on her free time was one of talia's favorite pass times . she went here herself , too involved in her academics to be in any of extracurricular or greek life . all of those were distractions , something that took away her mind from its true purpose .
she'd walked this path many times , passing right by the glass trophy case without giving it a glance . never interested in the old trinkets that resided inside . today , however , the femme noticed a male standing in front of it , staring at one photo in particular : the one of the football team . head turns to glance at the case , diverting from her original path . as she nears , her reflection gives her away immediately .
there is a silence between the two as neither speaks , both just glaring into the glass with wondering eyes . talia finds herself next to him , a shoulder brushes accidentally as frames stay still .
he speaks in a questioning tone to her , gaze drifting from the gold statues to him then back again . ā i honestly think that look was never in , as the kids say . i'm sorry but that was a horrible look . ā she replies with a soft laugh .
a laugh spills softly out of him before he can help it , low and surprised enough to fog the surface of his coffee when he lifts it closer to his mouth. damn. not even a charity lie from the girl in the hallway.
ā horrible , huh ? ā eyes still on the glass , taking in the old photo with fresh offence. ā see , i was hopinā for somethinā more like . . . misguided , maybe. or brave for the time. you went ahead and put the boy in the ground. ā
he finally turns his head to give her a proper look. figures , she must've been in diapers when the picture was taken. ā you go here or you just wanderinā these halls offerinā honest criticism to framed children ? ā
the straw stabs into her drink with an audible crunch , which in itself is a feat considering where they are. a stranger telling him her romantic woes had not been on his bingo card tonight , but he'll suppose this is par for the course in the south anyhow. butt of his palm cushions the line of his jaw , feigning attention with slightly narrowed gaze after she's jabbed him with that toothpick of a finger. have you been jabbed by a toothpick ? it hurts.
" really wide shoulders is a specific kink , i must admit , " he quips deadpan , before free hand comes up in surrender. " i'm listening , " he is letting her talk. " go on give me more information. what hints have you dropped. "
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location: near pharmacy
for: @bvdsigns - dealer's choice
the hood of his car's up in the pharmacy parking lot , standing in the dull afternoon glare with the faintly embarrassed patience of a man accustomed to experts and currently surrounded by none.
the car is not broken , probably. it has only begun making a small , accusatory sound from somewhere inside the engine , the kind his father would have identified before angelo finished describing it. three seconds , maybe less , then a look over the hood that would have contained both instruction and exasperation ā you hear that and kept drivin' boy ?!
he braces one hand on the frame and looks down into the machinery , willing competence out of stillness.
ā you any good with cars , or we both gon' look concerned at it ? ā
the store's rearranged itself from his last memory of it. ought to be expected , of course , things optimise , he can understand that , but what really makes his stomach cave into itself is that he can't actually remember the last time he shopped for himself. not outside of being somewhere and pointing to things that someone else would ring up on his behalf.
he moves slowly , re-orienting himself with the fact that the cereal is where the coffee used to be , the paper towels are where the cereal used to be. there's a cap on his head hopefully obscuring most of his face , but he knows he's still being watched , something he's been ignoring for the past five minutes. now he'll just have to admit he's a little out of his depth.
" hey. " he calls over , knows they're listening , don't matter how discreet they're being. head tips sideways , ā donāt suppose you know where they hide the coffee now ? ā
location: angelo's new house on redbud
for: @honeyheir - beau
he'd swung the door open ready cuss a motherfucker out about a damn documentary they all but been blackmailing him to agree to ā can't a man take a second to fuckin' breathe ?
what he sees though , is a time capsule in human form. his face splits into a wide white grin , like its careful countenance has been injected with warmth from the hearth. there's maybe some slyness to it too , the one that touches the features when you're about to show a kid a magic trick.
" well look at you , my boy's all grown , sharp in a suit 'n errythin' ! man , get in here , bring it in. "
of all the empty booths at flo's, he'd picked the picnic table because it was outside, off to the side where patrons would pass him without a second glance , out of the natural line of sight.
his half - eaten pie sits in front of him , going soft in the heat ; phone face down beside the plate. it'd buzzed seven times in the last twelve godforsaken minutes.
so far , two strangers have waved , one's valiantly pretended not to stare , someone across the street has definitely taken a photo and then pretended they were checking google maps.
a shadow crosses the table , his phone buzzes again. he doesn't move to touch it and instead sets his fork down , slow and neat beside his plate , spine rolling as if he's about to stretch against his will.
ā if youāre here for the pie , itās good. if youāre here for me , i'd recommend the pie instead. ā
he'd known it'd be a strange feeling being back here , empty hallways that feel so much smaller than in memory , but damn the panthers trophy case hasn't aged well.
the voluntary haunting might have been much more potent if not for the steam from the to - go coffee cup in his hand , looking at the faces of old teammates staring back at him, dawning realisation that he has no fuckin' clue what became of some of them. then he finds himself at seventeen , terrible haircut , all heart , no baggage , kneed he'd now kill to have again , staring back at him. the boy in that photo didn't know how good he had it.
the reflection on the glass flickers , he can feel movement behind him. he doesn't turn around , allowing the silence its moment before his voice echoes.
" be honest. y'think that haircut's comin' back these days ? might be styled right this time. "
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back's been clinging to the walls the entire time he's been in here. he's told himself no courtesy show-ups and yet here he is , trying to keep up with whatever this girl is saying , brows knit , concern slowly turning into polite amusement. " young lady you need to relax. take a breath. everything's fine. " his eyes are crinkled at the corners , more out of good-will than laughter , seeing as her distress isn't something he finds funny. he can relate to the standards she is holding herself to. " i was just leavin' no frettin' on my account. just have a habit of lookin' into the bottom of my glass is all. " because he'd always return it , not leave it out on some table to be picked up. " you're doin' a really good job so far. if you act like nothing's wrong , that's all the people will see alright ? "
he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been wondering if they'd bump into each other. maybe he should be glad for the accidental text , they both can appear equally composed. like the proper adults he'll wager people expect them to be now that they've reached their third decades.
lips spread , just a pinch as he turns , not quite matching the easy radiance of her smile , but it doesn't lack sincerity. " hey , " arm opens and he pulls her into a graceful hug , brief , almost catching the side of her head with his lips out of habit and stopping just so because he has to hold back a laugh , which spills out of him anyway after. " you sound so worried , she'd be so flattered. no , c'mon it's izzy , she's like a cockroach. if she goes down , she goes down with flair. "
he surveys her for a moment in the pause that follows. she looks even better than he remembers. then with a lift of brows and a sharp tempering breath , he continues " no , no , she wanted to bring in the cavalry with some deals and some new ventures. add a bit of exclusivity and i was the only one available so . . . " hands brace out in front of him , like a genie that's appeared in a cloud of smoke. " setting up at juniper. she wanted me to stay with her instead - can you imagine that nightmare ? " side-stepping each other's company , izzy has a more chaotic life than he does now it seems. " you look very nice by the way. happy. must be all the success hey ? "
ANGELO āACEā CARTER the FORTY ONE year old RETIRINGĀ NBA SUPERSTAR thatās been around willow glen for MOST OF HIS LIFE BEFORE HE MOVED AWAY AND IS NOW MOVING BACK. people around town say they can somehow both be DIRECTĀ and RESTLESS, but if you were to ask them, theyād probably say theyāre more like A SMILE TRAINED FOR CAMERAS AND A JAW SET FOR WAR, THE SWISH OF NET AFTER MIDNIGHT, THE SINGLE SQUARE DIAMOND ON ONE EAR, A WELL-SUITED SILHOUETTE STRIDING UNDER GLARING ARENA LIGHTS TO THE ROAR OF A CROWD. the town sure has been rumbling about them lately, apparently theyĀ ARE BACK IN WILLOW GLEN TO LAY LOW AND DO SOME IMAGE CONTROL AND TO HIDE FROM THE PRESS⦠but who knows if thatās true, i guess iāll just have to stop by REDBUD MANORĀ and find out !Ā
HISTORY
angelo carter was born in willow glen, texas, the son of a handyman and a well-respected teacher. his father fixed what other people broke, his mother shaped the children other people sent into the world, and between them angelo learned that pride did not need to announce itself. sometimes it came home tired, washed its hands, and sat down to dinner. he is the second-born, with an older sister who gets to everything first and a younger sister who's learned quickly how to be heard. his mother named him as a tribute to maya angelou. angelo. LO, as he's called at home and by those in willow glen who remember him that way. the nickname ace came after the nba draft, commentators needed a name that sounded cleaner, easier to shout, print on shoes, jerseys, billboards, reels. LO belonged to home, ACE belonged to everyone else.
basketball was not the plan. angelo was supposed to study hard, get into ivy league on scholarship, and find the kind of steady work that could make his familyās life easier. then willow glen panthers started filling the gym. by his final years with the panthers, the games had become town business. scouts sat in the stands. opposing coaches built their nights around stopping him. angelo played with raw focus as if he understood, even then, that talent was never only personal once a whole town began attaching its hopes to it. he absorbed their roars and chants, turned it into lift, and made every possession feel like repayment.
college took angelo out of willow glen, but it did not make him anonymous. after one division i season, he declared for the nba draft at 19, a six-foot-three guard with the rare ability to make a possession reorganise around him. new orleans took him late lottery, back when the franchise was still the hornets. his rookie year was uneven. by his third, he was over twenty points a night and the first problem on every scouting report.
chicago made him a legend. the bulls had banners, ghosts, and a fan base exhausted by nostalgia. angelo gave them wins. he arrived at 22 and changed the temperature of the franchise almost immediately: playoffs in his first season, all-star in his second, twenty-five, six and five by his third. fame built itself around him with predictable hunger. endorsements, publicists, stylists, investors, foundation boards, headlines about actresses, singers, party photographs, courtside rumours, business whispers. he bought his parents a house just outside willow glen, he'd made it.
his father died during a game of cardiac arrest when angelo was 30. he was told the quarter, the score, the timing of the medical response only later. after that, he kept playing, though those close to him said something in his manner changed. he became more guarded with reporters, more exact on the floor, less willing to let the public confuse access with intimacy. at 32, his fairytale wedding got derailed because his bride left him on the altar. the tabloids had a field day.
the lakers came when he was 36, after new orleans had developed him and chicago had made him historic. los angeles did not need a saviour. it wanted a veteran who could steady young players, close difficult games and give the franchise another link to greatness alongside lebron, another jewel on the storied crown. over five seasons, that role hardened into its own spectacle. cameras tracked his minutes, injuries, tunnel walks and private life. every strong game became proof he still had it. every poor one became evidence that time had finally arrived. by then, carter was not being asked to become the future. he was being asked to certify the present, until his latest girlfriend got photographed on a yacht with a billionaire.
everyone expected a statement, like a denial, an unfollow, or a neat little sentence from his publicist, polished enough to make his nth humiliation manageable. instead, angelo held a press conference and announced his retirement. he thanked the lakers, chicago, new orleans, the game, his mother, his sisters, his coaches, teammates, and fans. he did not mention the yacht or the billionaire or the woman every outlet had been waiting to hear from his mouth. this was, naturally, received poorly by people who had come hungry for blood. within twenty-four hours, ace carter had disappeared, leaving his entire team frantic,
he's come back to willow glen quietly, to hole up, breathe, think about his life, and decide whether retirement was a finish line, a shelter, or just another room where people would eventually find him. quiet is relative when a man has spent his whole life being managed. his entourage is still going to try to get in his ear. the next investment, the next board seat, the next deal. a limited edition shoe with one of the giants. an alcohol line. a health supplement. a training academy. a recovery brand. a docuseries. everyone has a plan for what ace carter should become next.
so what does willow glen do with a hometown legend who has nothing left to prove and no clear idea what to do with himself? can he be convinced to coach the local college team, or the high school boys who still play under lights that remember his name? will the dallas nba team try to pull him in as a mentor, consultant, or quiet weapon? can your character persuade him to invest in a business, attend a gala, lend his profile to a cause, or let the town use him one more time in the name of good intentions?
is angelo here to give back, hide out, rebuild, or finally become someone who is not being watched for a living?
*wink wonk emoji*
LIST OF HEADLINES OVER THE YEARS
Small-Town Star, Big-Time Poise: Angelo Carter Is No Longer a Secret
Late-Lottery Mystery: Is Angelo Carter Raw, Ready, or Both?
Why Defenders Are Picking Up Ace Carter Before Half Court
Can Ace Carter Survive the Weight of Chicagoās Memory?
The United Center Remembers How to Roar
The Bulls Are No Longer a Tribute Act
The League Keeps Adjusting to Ace Carter. It May Not Be Enough.
How Ace Carter Became the Leagueās Most Uncomfortable Matchup
Ace Carterās Camp Denies Romance After West Hollywood Photos Surface
Ace Carterās Name Attached to Troubled Sports-Tech Start-Up
Courtside Chemistry? Ace Carter Linked to Singer After Bulls-Lakers Game
Ace Carterās Silence Says More Than His Stat Line
Ace Carter Makes Rare Public Appearance With Girlfriend at Masked New Yearās Bash
Public Heartbreak Follows Ace Carter Into Postseason
Ace Carterās Limp Becomes Part of the Broadcast
Lakers Sign Ace Carter, Betting Age Still Has Teeth
Ace Carter Is Still Closing Games, and Time Is Still Undefeated
From Finals MVP to Vanity Fair: Ace Carterās Hollywood Chapter Gets Louder
Ace Carterās Company Draws Major Investors as Retirement Looms
Ace Carterās Final Act Is Turning Into Appointment Television
Ace Carter Silent as Yacht Photos Spark Breakup Rumours
The Billionaire, the Baller, and the Boat: Ace Carterās Private Life Returns to Centre Stage
Ace Carter Fires Publicist
Ace Carter Disappears From Los Angeles After Shock Retirement
NBA Legend's LA Home Lists on the Market for 23.6 mill.
Ace Carterās Next Act Is Already Being Monetized
HEADCANONS
angelo is pretty direct and blunt when he's allowed to be... which... for most of his life, is never
the hilarious thing is he thinks to himself "don't mess with my sisters. Ever." when they protect him way more than he needs to protect them
he likes orchestras, big rousing choirs, likes listening to those in the morning especially, feels meditative for him
his whole damn body is insured, like if he were to climb a tree, his entire team will panic, this man is never allowed to do anything lest he damage the merchandise
if you saw that headline about how he got abandoned at the altar, that killed him
mayhaps it led to him getting into a reciprocal somethin' somethin' a year or two later with someone else's wife. maybe he was in love with her who knows, not me
wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn and goes on long runs around lake henry because he bets on there being no people around
his house on redbud is now his fortress, but so is willow glen tbh, they rally around him, maybe he knows that deep down by instinct, but he's apprehensive and does not act like he thinks this
good luck getting him to attend any community event, you can try
he remembers every coach who doubted him. he will claim he does not. he does. names, years, exact phrasing. he has forgiven some of them. not all.
still works out in panthers jerseys
he may or may not be replacing half of his entourage, my guy is sick of some of them
WANTED !
literally anyone and everyone from when he was a teenager in willow glen
he needs a new team, a new assistant, a new business manager
maybe you want him to invest in something or have him help you raise funds for something and will not rest until he hears you out
your char really really really really thinks him existing in willow glen again is something special and that he should rub some of that gold dust off on NTU's team, he keeps saying no, perhaps you simply don't give up
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ĖĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā š»Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she Ā knows Ā what Ā it Ā is Ā to Ā scrutinize Ā a Ā person; Ā a Ā favorite Ā pastime Ā of Ā pearlās, Ā and Ā she Ā might Ā even Ā admit Ā to Ā doing Ā so, Ā though, Ā generally, Ā from Ā some Ā distance, Ā lest Ā she Ā be Ā caught. Ā ( Ā and Ā any Ā probable Ā guilt Ā would Ā be Ā in Ā this Ā Ā catching, Ā of Ā course, Ā and Ā certainly Ā not Ā in Ā the Ā act Ā of Ā Ā observation Ā itself. Ā ) Ā she Ā imagines Ā how Ā one Ā under Ā her Ā microscope Ā might Ā feel, Ā were Ā they Ā to Ā be Ā made Ā aware Ā of Ā her Ā Ā intrusive Ā eye; Ā vulnerable, Ā stretched, Ā Ā bug-like; Ā made Ā naked Ā with Ā every Ā flaw Ā on Ā display. Ā this Ā is Ā how Ā pearl Ā feels, Ā now. Ā ( Ā and Ā he Ā is Ā so Ā brazen Ā in Ā his Ā doing Ā so. Ā unlike Ā herself. Ā unsettling. Ā ) Ā it Ā is Ā not Ā a Ā very Ā nice Ā feeling.
she Ā tries Ā to Ā mimic Ā his Ā smiling, Ā to Ā eke Ā out Ā a Ā bit Ā of Ā laughter Ā so Ā that Ā she Ā might Ā appear Ā to Ā be Ā on Ā his Ā level, Ā or Ā that Ā she Ā might Ā understand Ā where Ā he Ā is Ā going Ā with Ā his Ā words Ā as Ā he Ā speaks Ā them. Ā a Ā poor Ā imitation, Ā no Ā doubt; Ā and Ā uncanny, Ā then, Ā in Ā her Ā attempt. Ā Ā ā Ā less Ā Ā humiliating Ā would Ā be  ⦠ optimal. Ā Ā ā Ā her Ā lips Ā pull Ā Ā ever Ā so Ā slightly Ā Ā at Ā their Ā corners; Ā this Ā time, Ā it Ā is Ā a Ā gesture Ā of Ā a Ā more Ā genuine Ā nature. Ā though, Ā small, Ā still, Ā and Ā hardly Ā of Ā consequence. Ā Ā ā Ā aisle Ā seats Ā are Ā good. Ā Ā very Ā good, Ā Ā ā Ā and Ā she Ā had Ā worried Ā so Ā over Ā being Ā trapped, Ā feeling Ā claustrophobic Ā sitting Ā between Ā so Ā many Ā someones. Ā amusedly, Ā Ā ā Ā youāve Ā Ā really Ā got Ā it Ā all Ā figured Ā out. Ā Ā ā
ā Ā um. Ā but, Ā Ā no. Ā i Ā donāt Ā think Ā itās, Ā Ā ā Ā quieter, Ā Ā ā  ⦠  fucked. Ā though Ā that Ā option Ā Ā is Ā tempting. Ā Ā ā Ā pearl Ā nods Ā her Ā head, Ā ritualistically, Ā making Ā to Ā Ā psych Ā herself Ā up. Ā Ā ā Ā if Ā we Ā still Ā have Ā time, Ā i Ā think, Ā we Ā should Ā try Ā out Ā your Ā Ā first Ā plan. Ā Ā ā Ā she Ā will Ā creep Ā up Ā to Ā the Ā door, Ā once Ā more, Ā preparing Ā herself Ā for Ā their Ā scheme. Ā Ā ā Ā youāre Ā quite Ā the Ā strategist, Ā you Ā knowļ¹ Ā do Ā you Ā do Ā this Ā a Ā lotļ¹ Ā Ā ā Ā facetious Ā in Ā her Ā tone, Ā Ā ā Ā saving Ā Ā uncoordinated Ā strangers.Ā Ā ā
part of him had hoped her wits would fail her altogether , but alas , when one is blessed with persuasion too compelling . . . he'll take a short bracing sniff of fresh air and hold the door open for her - graciously avoiding the presumption she'd need any bodily handling , although her precise aesthetic reminds him oddly of a quokka.
his response comes slowly , as if he's electing to give it in spite of irrelevance , hand sliding into his pocket , head bent so he might hear her properly as they move towards the double doors of the theater. " no you're just special i reckon. " there's nothing about what he's doing that he thinks reads in any way much of being a good samaritan. no , he could go home , dance a bit. work out. and still be bored. at least this way , tomorrow morning when he meets izzy to thwap her on the shoulder with one of her magazines for standing him up he'd have a story to tell. maybe she'd even have the good sense to feel some form of envy. it's not everyday she has him at her beck & call and she'd squandered it.
" you always this skittish ? " he asks , casually righting his collar , prepared for their own little performance as he offers his arm , free palm curling around the door handle.
he could've asked for gum , he thinks to himself , as the stick flies into his mouth. cutting back isn't exactly cutting back if he's confusing wanting something to occupy his mouth with a burn to his throat.
takes the lighter with a brief nod , and a careless wink to the coordinator's obvious disapproval , lets heat swirl against the back of his throat with unmoderated relief before he peers back at her through narrowed eyes. he exhales down - wind , tapping ash into the ashtray that materialises on the counter , taking his time to respond ā as if he's considering if he wants to fuck with the competitive type. he will not begrudge her the urge , but here , among guys who treat the tennis courts as a reprieve from white picket fences and quiet domestic failure , real ambition feels very nearly cruel.
" dunno , i'm like . . . underdressed even for these bloody napkins. and the membership interrogation here is more uptight than quarantine in australia. " another long drag , surveying her like he's not the one being assessed. ah hell , he'll suppose he's bored and intrigued enough. " only one way to find out. what's your name ? "
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he takes his italian style, triple macchiato, or occasionally a cortado, the exact type of thing that'll get him called high maintenance. the thing about coffee in this country or he'll suppose in this town, is you just have to take what there is and power through. like brown dirtwater in a cup for example.
she speaks the question that's not really a question and all at once it becomes clear that she seems high on her own supply - every bit of this fabrication. " never been a believer. " he smiles this time, grin slightly off - kilter watching her beneath heavy lids. " learn somethin' new everyday that should count shouldn't it ? " chews his lip, jaw pulsing in a way that moves every bone in his face. " what does someone like you do for fun anyway ? boozy bookclub ? massage at the spa ? "