Keeping it real, he looks up and wonders if he is serious. Of course he can't be. Can he? It doesn't matter. Once that line is cross there is no going back. The rumor is real but it's message is not.
A conversational dance of sorts, the rhythm of crude humor and bad language.
Like kids in a school, yard bored with their lives. The only thing left is to cause trouble.
The awful smell of drench fills the air. It didn't need to be that way, but no one did their job so the innocent pay the price. Not fully innocent, no. They will commit the same sins too, anyway.
Did it mean anything? He will wonder. Probably not.
It's merely one experience to the next. An assembly line of blood and sweat.
Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump.
Sure the wounds have not fully healed. The pain, while distant, still resonant but the excitement is new and bright. Whatever joys and horrors the situation might bring, at least the feeling of life is present.
Hold on tight, we say to each other. We're headed for the same disaster.