They were chipping away at the wall when it started.
Dean had stabbed his knife into the wood and twisted it, prying another long splinter loose, and said, “This is like eating soup with a fork. You think we’ll get through in time?”
The Dean working next to him didn’t look up. “In time for what?”
“You know. If he comes back. If they send him back, or whatever.” Dean kind of wished he hadn’t started down this road, but it was so goddamn boring in here that picking at a scab started to sound entertaining.
You would have done quite a bit for him. Followed him into any battle.
"… health care, basic human rights…"
"You ain’t never gonna change that shit. You think this is white people politics?"
What he has is pure empathy. He can assume your point of view, or mine, or maybe some points of view that scare him. It’s an uncomfortable gift.
Beauty pageants are idiotic. But I found out that the winner of the Miss Pawnee Pageant gets six hundred dollars. I can be idiotic for six hundred dollars.