#featuring npc billy of some sort. fighting frank to nearly the point of death or even just finding him there and deciding NOT TODAY FRANKIE

[wardogsong]

"That's uh, that's a nice radio y'got there, man. S'what the kids are into these days, huh? Whaddya— whaddya call it, uh— vintagecore."

Vintagecore?? Did he have that right? No— he's got that sense tickling at the back of his neck that Lisa would be snickering behind her cupped hand if she'd heard him, putting that fond look of disbelief on Maria's face; their eternal exasperation with how behind the times he could get while away. Shit, he must'a picked it up somewhere but he'll be damned if he can remember where or why— let alone puzzle out why the hell it was what tripped out of his mouth except that he had to say SOMETHING to the guy behind the opened door. Eyes landed on radio, bullshit emerged.

Now left hand rises, pastry box held in it and vaguely wagged at the under the table medic, it's clear cellophane window giving him a glimpse at the dozen donuts within. "Sorry— thought I'd uh, y'know, bring you this." A small taste of gratitude for a favor now owed to a man whose name he didn't even know. Bill had scraped him off the concrete dazed, bleeding, his hearing and sight shorting out and flickering back intermittently. Frank had gathered he was being taken somewhere— maybe to his death, probably to his burial, but there'd been no fight left in him; no strength with which to get away. Instead he'd wound up traveling here, the metal numbers on the door sticking in his battered memory of that night, neatly slotted alongside the route he'd taken out of this neighborhood and back to his own when he could stand for longer than ten seconds at a time— easy enough to retrace with a peace offering.