[kavinsky fit so neatly into this macabre little box of humanity-plus-innovation that rafaello has constructed in his own mind. one can hope that that'll die down a little, once he's immortal, but

also probably not.]

Yeah. [he twists around in his seat, almost putting his feet up on the dash, then obviously changing his mind mid-motion. his knees bang inelegantly on everything, then he sighs impatiently, breath reeking of liquor, and throws his arms backward over the 'shoulders' of his seat.] Yeah, I actually saved a cunt's life with it before. You remember when I told you about Lynch? Ungrateful piece of shit?

[look, kavinsky's version of the dream thieves would have been a very different narrative, we all know this.] Little fuckup made a monster this one time. [kavinsky closes his eyes like he's pretending to try to sleep in the car. he isn't. he's given up on sleep somewhat, lately. sadness insomnia, u no u no. his depression takes on a somewhat less exciting and dramatic format lately.] I killed it before it killed him.