continued from here
Stanley’s face twists in pain and frustration. His fists are balled up tight and it’s hard for him to see his brother clearly through his steamed up glasses. Thirty- not even thirty- forty years of sweat and desperation and Ford can’t even spare him a good five minutes to explain.
“Ya’ left behind a debt and a broken hunk of metal! I needed money, Stanford. I needed money to get you back home.”
He takes his glasses off, biting his lip as he wipes them down with his sleeve.












