[He shakes his head and slouches down onto the sand, reaching for his beer. He sits with his arms looped loosely around his knees, staring at the tiny, pockmarked craters where the bullets hit the sand.]
You're-- it's--
[He shakes his head again.]
Had a visitor.
[There's a twist at the end of it, not exactly a question, seeking confirmation more than an answer: Stephen is, if not in the same boat, apparently a similar one. Right?]
[That's about as much as Mickey knows how to do, both in terms of offering comfort and in terms of seeking it. Stephen rebuffs him and he shuts up again with a slight nod, takes a long drink of his beer.]
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no subject
You're-- it's--
[He shakes his head again.]
Had a visitor.
[There's a twist at the end of it, not exactly a question, seeking confirmation more than an answer: Stephen is, if not in the same boat, apparently a similar one. Right?]
no subject
[ Short. He doesn't want to talk abut him. ]
no subject
Whatever. You're up.
no subject
Finally, leverages himself up, reaching for the rifle.
And he does one round after another. Load, brace, shoot. Mechanical movements. One after another after another. ]