[ He doesn't think about it when Harold leads him into his apartment, just follows him blindly. His mind is shutting down and he can feel every blow and scrape, and the pain reminds him of being on the rooftop, of being shot. Dimly he's aware that he needs a drink, but he doesn't think he's going to get one before he passes out.
The apartment doesn't look too bad at first glance. There's no real mess, just a butter knife on the edge of a sink and a plate with crumbs on the counter. The arrangement of the throw pillows on the sofa makes it clear where John has been passing out, though there's no blanket. But there's also a half finished bottle and an empty glass on the table, numerous empty bottles on the counter, and a dwindling supply of full ones. It's plainly obvious that John has been doing very little aside from drinking and collapsing on his sofa.
John is silent the whole while, not even thinking to hide any of it from Harold. Just holding his hand and following along. ]
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The apartment doesn't look too bad at first glance. There's no real mess, just a butter knife on the edge of a sink and a plate with crumbs on the counter. The arrangement of the throw pillows on the sofa makes it clear where John has been passing out, though there's no blanket. But there's also a half finished bottle and an empty glass on the table, numerous empty bottles on the counter, and a dwindling supply of full ones. It's plainly obvious that John has been doing very little aside from drinking and collapsing on his sofa.
John is silent the whole while, not even thinking to hide any of it from Harold. Just holding his hand and following along. ]