So you've always had it? It's impressive.

[ But he already knows that. ]

[ One of his hands itches at his arm, subconsciously, like he can get at the veins underneath those sleeves. That complex isn't going away any time soon. Maybe he's imagining the same shit coming out of his own skin. ]

What's the sustainability on that shit? I mean, it's your fucking blood; how much do you shoot out before you start tripping over your own shoelaces?