[Dillon's mom raised him polite, so he wouldn't dream of hollering at Bush to let himself in. He answers the door looking neat as ever and a little wan, but no worse than that.The cabin door opens on a normal, slightly nerdy, very early 90s boy's bedroom. It has the inescapable impression of neatness without actually being especially organized: loosely grouped items of clutter are nevertheless in perfect stacks or symmetrical grids. His clothes are folded where he threw them at corners, and the bed, at least, is neat as a pin.]
Come on through. Should I take your coat - jacket thing, or is that weird?
[There's a little kitchen attached, through the next door, two places immaculately laid out at the table. The second room is, if possible, eerier than the first. It's a homey room, with knickknack Saguaro and Prickly Pear salt and pepper shakers, childhood drawings on the fridge with googly-eyed magnets, a spill of pill bottles and old medical paperwork over one counter, most of it completely untouched in the year Dillon has lived here again. It's a room with soft ghosts.]
Private
Come on through. Should I take your coat - jacket thing, or is that weird?
[There's a little kitchen attached, through the next door, two places immaculately laid out at the table. The second room is, if possible, eerier than the first. It's a homey room, with knickknack Saguaro and Prickly Pear salt and pepper shakers, childhood drawings on the fridge with googly-eyed magnets, a spill of pill bottles and old medical paperwork over one counter, most of it completely untouched in the year Dillon has lived here again. It's a room with soft ghosts.]