( Late into the evening, Manny had hid
himself at the end of the manor's porch.
An empty flask occupies his gloved
hand. Idlily, he twists it's cap looseβon,
then off, then on, then off again. The only
sound that fills the air is stifled sniffs,
suggesting a running nose. )
i cant stop drinking oil. i cant stop drinking oil .. i just can't stop i can't stop drinking crude oil. you know the black stuff that comes in barrels οΉ i can't stop drinking it. i just cant οΉ it's ta
( red lips stretch into a frown, large hand coming to shove manny's down to his side. )
Don't ye point at me, boy. π’.
. . .
Ye can find out after. Bend over.