[Blake shakes his head, eyes narrowed, mostly out of disbelief. What does he mean, it can't be an equivalent exchange? Who doesn't cut the mustard here? They don't add up. Who doesn't cut the mustard?]
Then what? What? Tell me what's— what's— Jesus, just need to... [He shakes his head, drops heavily on to the bed, and glares at the floor, jaw working.]
no subject
Then what? What? Tell me what's— what's— Jesus, just need to... [He shakes his head, drops heavily on to the bed, and glares at the floor, jaw working.]
Sorry. Just... sorry, man. 'm sorry.