[he was pretty, kavinsky almost says, but it seems like a stupid thing to argue about.] The other one was different, [is all he says, even though that doesn't seem like something he'd say. eudio maybe actually taught him a thing or two about multiplicity. it's hard to not learn something about multiplicity when you literally meet three, four versions of the same individual, and they're all ever so slightly different.

he scratches his tummy, growing sullen again. he had rather thought, after being stuck in the back seat, that it'd be over. but no, rafa insists on continuing the lecture, when he'd much sooner just pretend it hadn't happened, like a cat erasing a recent humiliation from memory.

he closes his eyes and wonders how much he could get away with pointing out he's fucking drunk. not much, he supposes.]

You think I made a point? That's nice. You know I'd just make you another car. It'd take more than one fucking wreck to kill you. Why are we doing this right now? I got no cock to block. [... ...] That came out wrong. I got no-- nobody to cock. Blocking... [he exhales loudly and slumps deeper in his seat.]