Brilliant move, Sullivan. It's more idle a thought than it should be, making friends never seeming worth the effort. He's supposed to be trying, but that vein of frustration likes to meet the vein of denial, and talking to him always winds up like talking to a wall at some point.

Except the wall could abruptly open its mouth and put you in your place, without you even realizing you had one to be put.

He'd resolved to make the effort, though; he'll probably keep resolving it until it starts to feel natural. Kind of like sewing blue hair on what you were born with, he guesses. "It's a cool wig," he concedes. "I'm just saying, you're allowed to take your mind off things too. You don't have to go till the fields all day."