[ He scratches absently at his face. That's the question, isn't it? There's a seemingly endless string of befores tying him to this place—the room with floor and ceiling swapped, the rusted ladder he climbed and climbed only to find a drive-through window at the top, all that time he spent trying to get back to the radio tower—yet he only has about a day's worth of stubble. He thinks back: he's slept at least once. He thinks. ]
FEELS LIKE WEEKS
[ A pause to flex his fingers, debate what to say next. He opts for honesty: ] I MISS PEOPLE
no subject
FEELS LIKE WEEKS
[ A pause to flex his fingers, debate what to say next. He opts for honesty: ] I MISS PEOPLE