I wonder how Brandon and Finn feel. Tripping, leaning, barreling forwards into tomorrow. Stuck on the ground. Not as much to do as Tyler or Sam. Not as far to go as me. And they don't have to deal with stale cheese danish, either.
Not the only staleness I have to work with. Sam uses a notebook, so that's mostly in one place. Brandon and Finn just grab at anything they can find. Besides the text messages they typed out, there are white printer pages, receipts, index cards, lists, that first aid kit, a full sketchbook, trimmings of all sorts (including the local paper), probably a few more that I'm forgetting. All covered in words. A burrow to live in. Or a cave in sore need of a light. Or a nest.