"No," he says -- he's not planning on eating anything. He can't remember the last time he did, but he's certain it must have been a reasonable amount of time ago. (He would be wrong.)

Wolfgang lets go of him and sits, looking slightly dazed -- he's not high, but it's hard for him to focus on anything today between the lack of sleep and how he feels dead inside, like someone scooped out all his insides and left them somewhere on a cliffside in Flag Hill. When he props his chin in his right hand, it's mostly to keep his head upright.

"People can be jerks," he says slowly, mostly in response to what they were talking about earlier, but the long delay is odd. He's been thinking a lot about gender, lately.