Too bad.
Antagonism and nosiness not being mutually exclusive, Near is of course champing to know what Jude's living arrangements are, and what they have been, and so many other post-then details -- almost as much as he's determined not to let his curiosity bleed through to the outside of this interaction. Jude, he suspects, will find gratification in any blatant interest in his life, and the thought of making himself a source of gratification for Jude (more than this meeting has already made of him) gives him mental hives.
"Actually, yeah," he says, and while the answer begins neutrally enough, it develops a flavor of self-consciousness as it crosses his tongue.
Yes, he is close by. He's close by because everything he has cultivated here in Seattle, his whole life, is hemmed into a very small radius: walk here, walk home, walk to the Burger King, etc. He could walk to work if his schedule didn't mean he'd be a two-thirty in the morning pedestrian, which is a bad thing to be in the best of neighborhoods. Used to be he would stretch out in his chosen places, explore the margins. These days he doesn't care to stray too far out of his bubble, and it isn't something he thinks about much, except when all of a sudden it feels like admitting a weakness.
"Pretty close." Like that tempers it. "Fifteen minute walk. Come on." He leads away from the wide, windowed Nordstrom, although the exit just beyond it is closest to his route.
Outside, the air is thick and clouds are looking moody, but it hasn't started raining yet.
Antagonism and nosiness not being mutually exclusive, Near is of course champing to know what Jude's living arrangements are, and what they have been, and so many other post-then details -- almost as much as he's determined not to let his curiosity bleed through to the outside of this interaction. Jude, he suspects, will find gratification in any blatant interest in his life, and the thought of making himself a source of gratification for Jude (more than this meeting has already made of him) gives him mental hives.
"Actually, yeah," he says, and while the answer begins neutrally enough, it develops a flavor of self-consciousness as it crosses his tongue.
Yes, he is close by. He's close by because everything he has cultivated here in Seattle, his whole life, is hemmed into a very small radius: walk here, walk home, walk to the Burger King, etc. He could walk to work if his schedule didn't mean he'd be a two-thirty in the morning pedestrian, which is a bad thing to be in the best of neighborhoods. Used to be he would stretch out in his chosen places, explore the margins. These days he doesn't care to stray too far out of his bubble, and it isn't something he thinks about much, except when all of a sudden it feels like admitting a weakness.
"Pretty close." Like that tempers it. "Fifteen minute walk. Come on." He leads away from the wide, windowed Nordstrom, although the exit just beyond it is closest to his route.
Outside, the air is thick and clouds are looking moody, but it hasn't started raining yet.