[ Listen, Jesse's not the one in the middle of performing some kind of mental uneven bars routine to avoid frenzied speculation about everything that could—did?—go wrong with his life. He's not the one literally staring down the future. Or, well, literally avoiding its eyes.
Fortunately this means the biting sarcasm slides on by, as Jimmy pulls a face at the Vietnamese masseuse...anecdote, something plummeting in the pit of his stomach. ] Hey. Come on— [ He says to the hand gesture, but his objections slowly melt away. For a short, heady handful of seconds he's relieved: not him. Open and shut.
...but the hits keep on coming. ] Yeah, that's...huh. One for three. [ He sighs, looking deflated by the end of it. Defeated, even. One hand idly punches the mattress. ] The Costner thing, not... [ He grimaces to himself, and with a belated surge of indignation: ] That's like the worst thing you could say. And you did it off the top of your head! What, are you pissed at me?
no subject
Fortunately this means the biting sarcasm slides on by, as Jimmy pulls a face at the Vietnamese masseuse...anecdote, something plummeting in the pit of his stomach. ] Hey. Come on— [ He says to the hand gesture, but his objections slowly melt away. For a short, heady handful of seconds he's relieved: not him. Open and shut.
...but the hits keep on coming. ] Yeah, that's...huh. One for three. [ He sighs, looking deflated by the end of it. Defeated, even. One hand idly punches the mattress. ] The Costner thing, not... [ He grimaces to himself, and with a belated surge of indignation: ] That's like the worst thing you could say. And you did it off the top of your head! What, are you pissed at me?