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"Must be nice," he answered sorrowfully. "I don't have scads of backup to beat people up when they piss me off. You'll just have to give me s**t for free to avoid having someone cave my nose in, I guess. It'll be easier for everyone. Canned vegetables are s**t though. I'll take the rice." He delivered this with an air of benevolence, as though deigning to accept a subpar burnt offering. "With butter if you have it but I am prepared for disappointment if you don't. Is Zed your uh roommate?" He somehow managed to actually get a hit of his cigarette in there somewhere without losing any steam--impressive!--and did a jittery little dance as though he were cold. "I want a roommate, man, living alone is the ******** pits, I don't got anyone to talk to except yelling at the AM radio guys."

"Then get a word in edgewise, ain't nothing stopping you but your own timidity," he chirped cheerfully. "Just interrupt me if it's so important. Anyway I'm interesting as hell so you ought to be grateful. Not allowed to smoke inside I guess?" He took a horrifyingly long drag, which spurred a coughing fit, and damned if the ******** didn't talk through that too, eyes watery: "Anyway, thanks for the smoke." The first bit of gratitude he'd offered up thus far--as though he'd been saving it until he could be sure he'd actually finish the cigarette, as if Ever's generosity was contingent on a successful outcome for Sawyer.

Contributing to the cigarette litter, Sawyer nodded, and followed while still chattering, albeit in a somewhat more subdued tone--and this entirely due to the fact that without his hands occupied, he'd already taken to chewing his fingernails. Judging from the state of them, this was a usual habit. "Well, I won't tell him you're taking adorable street urchins into your love nest if you don't. Is it his beer I'm drinking? I don't feel bad drinking your beer since I helped you get it but I'd feel kinda bad to drink your uh-roommate's beer. Only kinda though. I won't feel bad eating his rice though, rice is cheap as s**t. I eat a lot of rice. Mostly ramen though? Sometimes eggs. When I'm feeling fancy."

"What the ********, dude," said Sawyer, sounding genuinely offended at the notion that he'd have to cook. "I don't know anything about your house or where your pans are or anything. Make it myself! I got you that entire six pack for free. Speaking of which..." He held out a hand again.

All the while his eyes were running over the apartment, over all that space, but only with interest--no envy, even though in truth he lived in a studio apartment that was little better than a hotel room and didn't even have separate sinks for "kitchen" and bathroom. He sniffed, deeply, of fresh apartment smell. "You don't have any cats, do you?"

He drank in absent, distracted gulps between words. "I am s**t for names--I have already forgotten yours, I'm not gonna lie--but I never forget a face. You got a big a** nose, too, it's memorable. It's a good nose," he added, by way of explanation, as if his personal opinion of the nose in any way compensated for the fact that he just breezily offered an insult as though commenting on the weather. He went to ferret through the cabinets, opening doors with the non-beer-occupied hand and rummaging through them as though they were his own. With, in fact, more curiosity than would be strictly required to make rice. He did not bother to hide his shameless snooping. Very possibly he wouldn't even end up cooking.

"You got the mad hacks, then? Or was that sarcasm. You look savvy enough. You got those long skinny texting fingers, too, like a little Japanese girl. You ever seen a Japanese girl send a text? Mindblowing." He held a pan aloft, and dropped it on the counter with a bang before resuming his search.

"How do you live?" Sawyer demanded, with the incredulity of a generation that'd grown up with agile thumbs. He was so floored, in fact, that he actually stopped what he was doing, and even stopped chattering for a moment, gaping at Ever in absolute disbelief. "So you don't text like... ever? Oh s**t, that was your name, right."

He abandoned his search, eyeing Ever mistrustfully over the top of his beer can as though he had become a serpent or a ghost, or possibly just a liar. "What if you're having a party or something?" he demanded. "I guess... Zed? I am gonna assume that's short for something--I guess he does that? What do you... my god! Do you have phone numbers written down somewhere?" This, apparently, astounded him more than anything else. "I haven't done that since middle school! Tell me you have a rolodex or something cool. Or I guess you don't, if you don't have many people to talk to. That is a ******** shame. Let me bring some people over. I will make you friends. You have me to talk to now! You don't know where to find me!"

That last was delivered with a childish enthusiasm and sincerity. Fix, apparently, still lived in a world where one made acquaintances by saying "wanna be friends?" and then holding hands and running off into the sunset.