[ She glances over her shoulder at his comment, giving him a pointed little look before descending down the stairs to what passes for a kitchen in this shack. It's barely functional, but the bare essentials are there — which, for Andy, includes a half-empty bottle of what looks like whiskey. She pours from this bottle into a cracked coffee mug. ]
Would you rather keep playing fucking hot potato with my table? [ Dryly, nodding at one of the rickety stools situated near the kitchen counter: ] Sit. You drink?
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Would you rather keep playing fucking hot potato with my table? [ Dryly, nodding at one of the rickety stools situated near the kitchen counter: ] Sit. You drink?