"Watch where the fuck you're going, Roger," Jack snapped, stalking off three whole steps before he stopped, turned, and looked back. He was clean and shaven, but he looked tired. Not just sleepy, but like he'd been up and going for days. Like there wasn't much left to run on. He had no sense of humor, and very little use for decorum.
Just enough to manage to say, "I'm sorry. That wasn't about you."
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Date: 2007-12-29 07:27 am (UTC)Just enough to manage to say, "I'm sorry. That wasn't about you."