[His fingers fidget with the neck of his bottle as Frank works on his. The jokes about lesbian mothers and cute body parts are dead and he won't disrupt their peace, not if the other fella won't.

There is, though, a lukewarm disturbance in his gut... but Hawk figures he'll be okay.

He's done okay so far, even if it's a little hard to breathe and it, for once, isn't because of the old, stale air.] Crabapple Cove, we're on... we're right on the bay. Penosbscot Bay, y'know? [It's easy on his tongue and his memory- every line practically memorized off the script and

if he brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose again, as a guise to keep his voice steady and eyes dry, no-one's going to give a shit because they're going to get drunk anyway. And the point of getting drunk is to not remember.

And please, Christ, let him never get sober.] Everyone-- everyone's a fisher basically. It's a small town, th' kind where everyone knows everyone and we've got one... yeah, one schoolhouse. One post office. One pharmacy. One lighthouse. And you can always smell the pine or... uh, blueberry pies. [He's done with questions, but talking? He'll never be done talking.] It's like that. I would've had t-- to fly back to Portland. I think.