“Now, I feel like comfort eating.” “Stay out of the biscuit tin, Gibs,” Johnny argued from his perch on the couch with my sister. “You’re in training, lad, remember?” “Yeah, well, you tell my emotions that, Johnny, because I’m feeling raw, lad. Raw, I tell you,” he replied, swiping his car keys off the coffee table. “I’m going on a food run into town.”
