Outside it is sleeting persistently.
Grant sprawls on the battered couch, flipping desultorily through the newspaper.
Alex is sitting at the kitchen table, all manner of papers strewn across it, a luridly illustrated book in front of him. Every few pages, he glances out the window and shakes his head. Ain't that the truth. And muscles, back when they used to be dinner instead of homework. Alex turns another page and shakes his head.