An accident. [He thumbs through the pages, skimming them with a squint. It might be a rude habit, but reading before he meets someone in person keeps him from being even ruder when he doesn't recognize them. His voice is as preoccupied as his eyes are.] When I was little. What about you?
[He glances up at N -- frowns into the dim light, then shifts back into one of the light spots cracking through. Green hair, fast talking ... he keeps flipping through the pages of his journal.]
About not remembering much, I mean. If it's, uh, not rude to ask you the same.
no subject
[He glances up at N -- frowns into the dim light, then shifts back into one of the light spots cracking through. Green hair, fast talking ... he keeps flipping through the pages of his journal.]
About not remembering much, I mean. If it's, uh, not rude to ask you the same.