truthfully, whizzer is finding it difficult to not actually get upset about this. nobody forced him to fight; nobody forced him to fight to win. winning used to be nothing to him, but he wasn't about to lose a fight he only started to impress entertain marvin. whizzer wins, but his opponent gets a few good kicks in, and whizzer leaves with marvin looking less than his best. on top of that, the bartender was sure to snap a nice picture of both whizzer and the man he was fighting for the establishment’s wall of fame. and marvin makes jokes. it isn’t surprising behavior- normally, it’s cute- but right now, it only makes it harder for whizzer to not get angry at him.

wouldn’t it be nice if, just for once, michael could mind his own fucking business? instead of feeling the need to make his bullshit opinions known to anyone that will listen (or even to those that won’t; the fat snake loves to hear himself talk), is it too much to ask that michael simply appreciate how hard trevor tries to be a good host to him, despite their tricky situation? letting mike crash at his place instead of forcing him to stay at a fleabag motel, happily providing food and drink and asking for nothing in return, but no, it isn’t good enough for him. it’s too hot, too dirty, too meth-riddled and blood-stained. too trevor. the city has made michael into an ungrateful fucking snob. trevor turns his attention from the leftovers he was in the middle of preparing– again, for michael, the dickhead– and shoots his friend(?) a dirty look: eyes narrow, nose scrunches, split lips curl into a snarl.

〝 oh, that’s fuckin’ rich, coming from you. don’t act so high and fuckin’ mighty, alright? this– 〞 trevor pulls the spoon in hand from the concoction in bowl before him, bits of the visceral stew dripping off the utensil as he waves it about idly. 〝 this– the desert, and this lab, and my life– maybe ain’t your cup of tea, but it’s mine, alright? it’s all mine. and i didn’t have to sell out my friends to get any of it. 〞 gaze returns to the blend of meats and organs trevor calls food but attention really remains on michael, tone remaining bitter as he continues talking. 〝 you ain’t better than me, mike. just a different kinda sick. 〞