( christ o'lordy. gene ain't often one for stickin' his foot in his mouth, but he can all but taste boot leather now. he ducks his head some, spears a piece of pie on his fork that he don't much feel like eatin'. )
Must'a been hard, then. Growin' up like that.
( normal folk don't see ghosts, but that don't mean they can't be aware of 'em in some small way. that sorta thing wears on a soul, because like it or not you carry death the whole of your life. )
no subject
Must'a been hard, then. Growin' up like that.
( normal folk don't see ghosts, but that don't mean they can't be aware of 'em in some small way. that sorta thing wears on a soul, because like it or not you carry death the whole of your life. )