"Yeah, well, I clean up pretty nice." He stays where he is for a few seconds, feeling the roughness of the bark, imagining the life under it. He can't smell blood anymore, can't feel the heat of living things in the air, but it's like some of the sensitivity has remained somehow, the virus leaving traces behind.

Everything living is so precious, so delicate.

Taking that life means so much.

"I'm not a pessimist. I'm just a realist. It's actually pretty fucking cheerful, good shit does happen." He turns to her and smiles. "I got at least some shit taken care of before I got a really heavy tan."