the funny thing about carmy having to stand in the middle of culinary colleagues discussing their climb to their individual successes; is how baffled he is to silence that they’re able to talk about everything in a positive, albeit comically, uplifting light. as though they’ve lived past beyond waiting for the pot to boil. while carmy is still just there, with his hands in the simmering water. he wonders how any of this will be survivable, let alone worthy to reminisce. all his grief in clenched fists, and his grudges close to his chest; he decides he must make something he deems worthy out of all his damage. how it must count for something.












