That's alright, Clarice. Aside from the accent, which Aaron's could be placed somewhere in the upper western US, he comes off as a doormat, too.
He looks up, smiling sheepishly himself and blinks, wondering in an off-handed sort of way what job she might be referring to, but he makes a mental not to ask later rather than diverting the topic. Instead, he looks down at the small paperpack in his hand, realizing he hadn't actually been comprehending the pages he was reading. He guessed he really was that distracted.
It was cheep, worn and old, and the cover looked like it belonged on a rack in an old diner. "You're Only Lonely When You're Dead. I think it's one of those old pulp fictions." And it was worn. Really worn. "And it's old. That's weird, right? We don't really have state-funded Sanatoriums anymore, but...they did when this wasn't old..." He clears his throat.
no subject
He looks up, smiling sheepishly himself and blinks, wondering in an off-handed sort of way what job she might be referring to, but he makes a mental not to ask later rather than diverting the topic. Instead, he looks down at the small paperpack in his hand, realizing he hadn't actually been comprehending the pages he was reading. He guessed he really was that distracted.
It was cheep, worn and old, and the cover looked like it belonged on a rack in an old diner. "You're Only Lonely When You're Dead. I think it's one of those old pulp fictions." And it was worn. Really worn. "And it's old. That's weird, right? We don't really have state-funded Sanatoriums anymore, but...they did when this wasn't old..." He clears his throat.
"Uh. I'm Aaron, by the way."