"Oh, I asked Helen if I could help her make everything and we got to chatting about her grandkids. Told her I'd see if I could get her son outta jail, too. You should've come in!"
Logan dismisses his question and the offered food. He’s fine with good old fashioned, tried and true, trail mixes and a shit tonne of beer.
“What took you so long anyway?”
"I'm kidding— did you know they sell pulled pork and gumbo in there?" The rustling of plastic as he pulls out a sandwich, offering it over.
"Oh, I asked Helen if I could help her make everything and we got to chatting about her grandkids. Told her I'd see if I could get her son outta jail, too. You should've come in!"
"I'm kidding— did you know they sell pulled pork and gumbo in there?" The rustling of plastic as he pulls out a sandwich, offering it over.
“The fuck you doin’ with all that?” He pauses for a moment. “What the fuck 𝙞𝙨 that, Wade. Tell me the cops won’t be after us.”
It's almost as if Wade senses he's in danger of being left behind because he's rushing out the barred doors of the gas station with two hefty bags.
"Comin', comin'!"
"I'm kidding— did you know they sell pulled pork and gumbo in there?" The rustling of plastic as he pulls out a sandwich, offering it over.
It's almost as if Wade senses he's in danger of being left behind because he's rushing out the barred doors of the gas station with two hefty bags.
"Comin', comin'!"
They’re not on a deadline to get to Mexico, but he’d prefer not to spend any more time in bum-fuck Alabama than needed. He will leave in a minute.
It's almost as if Wade senses he's in danger of being left behind because he's rushing out the barred doors of the gas station with two hefty bags.
"Comin', comin'!"