[ Mitchell Hundred is the most terrible excuse for a human being Bradbury knows.
He decides this is a fact, with uncharacteristic vindictiveness and a startling clarity for the current concentration of alcohol in his blood. His hand rests on the edge of the open window, as if that might somehow keep Mitch from actually opening the door; if he does so now, in fact, Bradbury's likely to fall right out. The radio's still going softly in the background - all my instincts, they return, and the grand facade, so soon will burn - but he doesn't pay it any attention. ]
You don't need to do this. [ Stating a fact, or a question, or maybe just reminding Mitch what they are. He leans against the door a little. It's a cold night out. Mitch should be home. ]
no subject
He decides this is a fact, with uncharacteristic vindictiveness and a startling clarity for the current concentration of alcohol in his blood. His hand rests on the edge of the open window, as if that might somehow keep Mitch from actually opening the door; if he does so now, in fact, Bradbury's likely to fall right out. The radio's still going softly in the background - all my instincts, they return, and the grand facade, so soon will burn - but he doesn't pay it any attention. ]
You don't need to do this. [ Stating a fact, or a question, or maybe just reminding Mitch what they are. He leans against the door a little. It's a cold night out. Mitch should be home. ]