He's going to need another box of Exacto blades, the way this is going. Worth it, though -- the project he's got in mind is the kind of thing where practice pays.
The door opens, and Bobby -- blade in hand, hand holding open a book -- lifts his head. "Hey."
The door opens, and Bobby -- blade in hand, hand holding open a book -- lifts his head. "Hey."
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Sam doesn't look up, nor does he slow down as he passes through the room toward the front door.
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And then he says, sliding the book across the table, "Don't guess I could get you to hold this a minute so I don't cut off my own damn finger."
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He shoves the cell phone that he's been fiddling with back into his pocket and walks over, reaching for the book.
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(The primary word under the figure in the text: munimentum.)
Bobby adjusts the book a little, and bends over the piece of cardboard he was working on. "Thanks. Didn't much feel up to bleeding today."
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He keeps his hand steady, holding the volume in place.
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Sam's clearly not paying attention.
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"Think your brother ran off to join the circus," Bobby offers.
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He looks startled for a second, and then gives Bobby a look.
"Sure he did."
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"More of the usual?"
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He's paying a little more attention now, at least-- enough to ensure he's not going to have his hand sliced up.
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It's a question.
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"Nothing's wrong with Dean."
Nothing new, anyway.
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