“I suspect he may be struggling with his chosen role.” “Well.” I uncork a bottle of wine and somehow restrain myself from pouring thrice as much as I usually would. “He is not alone in that.” “No.” Grey sighs. “He’s not.” He pushes his glass toward me. He almost never drinks. I raise my eyebrows. He shrugs. I pour.
THE RETURN OF DRUNK GREY MY BODY CANNOT HANDLE THIS EXCITEMENT
