They're--pretty big. [He manages to shrug out with regards to a sock fitting Sam like a mask would a thief. Idle chatter really, almost as idle as Barbie's phone conversation.] I am watching her.

[Not that's not frustration for having to be reminded of the job at stake, that's the struggle between his brain and his body. He wants to look at Larry so bad but in blinding himself to what the old man is doing everything, every touch, feels emphasized.] Do whatever it fuckin' takes, Larry. Think I can make heel marks on the roof of the guy's car? [Rhetorical question, unless Larry really can get his legs that high...] Dive in.

[In his mind the kid's already concluded next time he's gonna throw Lawrence Dimick over the pool table, or a chair, or those things that bring the bowling balls back to you, for making him feel like such a prime piece of ass. Which he is, but it's the pretense of just being a prime piece of ass that gets to him. Freddy loves it.]