[ This proves to be a challenging bout of resistance to butt up against, and an even more challenging question to answer. Mister Dickerson thinks to the letters tied up neatly among the belongings he’d pawed through in Ellis’ pack, the carved mabari, the dirty playing cards. Up until the last few seconds, he’s watched Wysteria as closely as she’s watched him. Now he looks down to hook his joint up out of its nest of porcelain teeth.
There’s still a coal glowing dull in the cherry for him to coax life back into.
A toke, smoke flushed harsh through his sinuses, something resettled in the muscle and bone that keeps his posture polite, in that he is still mostly facing her. He has made a mistake. ]
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There’s still a coal glowing dull in the cherry for him to coax life back into.
A toke, smoke flushed harsh through his sinuses, something resettled in the muscle and bone that keeps his posture polite, in that he is still mostly facing her. He has made a mistake. ]