[ Carmy's staring at his phone when the kid comes over, scrolling old texts that don't mean fuck all when he doesn't have anyone to actually call and nothing's real. If you ask him, he can't even say why he's doing this when a part of him already knows what he'll inevitably run into: the last thing he ever sent Michael, the last thing that his brother actually fucking answered.
He's so focused on it, staring at the photo, that when his new visitor speaks up, he jumps a little, then blinks. ]
Yo. [ Carmy shoves his phone back in his pocket. Smoke streams from his nostrils as he lifts his hand with the cigarette and scratches the back of his head. Yeah, he recognizes the boy. One of, like, Jesus—feels like at least five or six teens running around that castle. ] It's, a restaurant. My restaurant. Or, it's supposed to be, I dunno how all this shit works in here.
[ Probably easier to tell what it is from the front; out back, there's just a dumpster filled with cardboard boxes that haven't been broken down (of course they haven't), and a chain link fence that kinda divides his place from the gas station. ]
no subject
He's so focused on it, staring at the photo, that when his new visitor speaks up, he jumps a little, then blinks. ]
Yo. [ Carmy shoves his phone back in his pocket. Smoke streams from his nostrils as he lifts his hand with the cigarette and scratches the back of his head. Yeah, he recognizes the boy. One of, like, Jesus—feels like at least five or six teens running around that castle. ] It's, a restaurant. My restaurant. Or, it's supposed to be, I dunno how all this shit works in here.
[ Probably easier to tell what it is from the front; out back, there's just a dumpster filled with cardboard boxes that haven't been broken down (of course they haven't), and a chain link fence that kinda divides his place from the gas station. ]