[ Partway through the process of sectioning off another bite of pie for himself, a strange, painful twist in his throat prompts him to pause. He swallows again, and then clears it. Cutting is resumed more intently than before, with an absent nod of thanks in aside for the sentiment.
The fuzzy lines around his mouth have bit in deep, grim for the table setting of weed and stars and pie.
no subject
The fuzzy lines around his mouth have bit in deep, grim for the table setting of weed and stars and pie.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. ]