[ 'Where are you from, kid?' Just like that, his mind is dragged back to— that place. That filthy cement hole, Todd's face, the galling memory of watching Andrea crumple to the ground with her brains blown out, Mr. fucking White. His mouth begins to form the words but get stuck in his throat. He can't even bring himself to say it: New Mexico. He's a deer caught in the headlights for all of a couple of silent moments before quickly deflecting: ]
no subject
Does it matter? We're in fucking space.