[Hands clean, somehow absolved. Even though there are moments when he blames himself for Freddy being shot at all. A man can't think of those kinds of things when you're speeding to the rendezvous. And now, it's all done. Nothing can be fixed.
His hands smell like tequila.]
Now I don't wanna move. Good going.
[Thank fucking God there's no one else to expect comin' on in here. Will anything be this good again?]
no subject
His hands smell like tequila.]
Now I don't wanna move. Good going.
[Thank fucking God there's no one else to expect comin' on in here. Will anything be this good again?]