![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
He's not feeling real sociable.
Not feeling like doing a hell of a lot of anything; if he's honest he'll admit that Joe dying that way sucked a hell of a lot more than he's letting himself acknowledge.
That's not what he does, though, let things linger: it's over. Nothing anyone can do, no matter how shitty the whole thing is and no matter how bad it smells.
So he sits, stretched out on the bed, alone, smoking, staring up at the stars Beth painted on the ceiling, trying not to think.
Not feeling like doing a hell of a lot of anything; if he's honest he'll admit that Joe dying that way sucked a hell of a lot more than he's letting himself acknowledge.
That's not what he does, though, let things linger: it's over. Nothing anyone can do, no matter how shitty the whole thing is and no matter how bad it smells.
So he sits, stretched out on the bed, alone, smoking, staring up at the stars Beth painted on the ceiling, trying not to think.
