[For a glimmer of a moment he remembers money passing hands. Promises of being the one to watch it, of nagging doubt that ended up to be for good reason. Except not now. Actually the opposite. He wants to pocket it all. No, you old shit. You can trust Freddy.
That vital 'something left' goes to freckled hands.]
Bull fight first.
[The old man puts it into his breast pocket. There are plenty of thieves out and about that are not bears.]
no subject
That vital 'something left' goes to freckled hands.]
Bull fight first.
[The old man puts it into his breast pocket. There are plenty of thieves out and about that are not bears.]