"Fan-fucking-tastic," he answers dryly, avoiding looking at the other now they're stationary. There's no distraction anymore, only a room and Munson, so he focuses on smoking, eyeballs the food he doesn't really have an appetite for, and tries to avoid exactly what he knows the metalhead is going to bring things back around to. Talking won't change anything. It's over. Move on. Even if he just feels stuck. Spinning his wheels for a reason he can't put into words.

"There's a strip joint a couple blocks down. And there was a little old lady screaming at what I'm pretty sure was a raccoon."