Bartholomew
Bart couldn’t care less about their lack of progress, the peacocking of random strangers, or the childish hotheadedness of other strangers. He gets to destroy some stuff in the sunshine, what more can a man want? Maybe a cold beer, but there’s nothing to stop him for hunting one of those downs in his brother’s kitchen after all this. The dude doesn’t drink anymore, so Bart considers it free game. As if he wouldn’t have regardless.
Bart goes cheerily back to ripping nails out. Adam in his little shade corner seems to be doing just fine - if annoyed at his own restrictions - and nobody else really pings his radar. So he kicks a few joints apart with this steel toed boots and hums idly to himself, glad his usefulness doesn’t require social niceties.
Bart goes cheerily back to ripping nails out. Adam in his little shade corner seems to be doing just fine - if annoyed at his own restrictions - and nobody else really pings his radar. So he kicks a few joints apart with this steel toed boots and hums idly to himself, glad his usefulness doesn’t require social niceties.
They say I need therapy 'Cause I've got no symmetry
but maybe I just don't fit in
but maybe I just don't fit in
