"Now, are we all done yelling about the weird things?"
"Are there any left?"
"Can't think of any," says Miles honestly. He feels that the exact occupation of Stalas, Mark, and Lalita upstairs is something his five-year-old self still wouldn't want to know even adjusting for his demand to be told all the things he won't like hearing. (And last Miles saw them, they appeared to be having a ticklefight anyway.)
"Then I guess I'm done yelling about them," says Little Miles. "Even though I didn't hardly."
"And now," says Grownup Miles, "you can go back to yelling at me about Strat-O." He makes a move.
no subject
"Are there any left?"
"Can't think of any," says Miles honestly. He feels that the exact occupation of Stalas, Mark, and Lalita upstairs is something his five-year-old self still wouldn't want to know even adjusting for his demand to be told all the things he won't like hearing. (And last Miles saw them, they appeared to be having a ticklefight anyway.)
"Then I guess I'm done yelling about them," says Little Miles. "Even though I didn't hardly."
"And now," says Grownup Miles, "you can go back to yelling at me about Strat-O." He makes a move.
Little Miles giggles. "Deal!"