Kurt goes back to his magazine. Rick puts his seat back and closes his eyes. After stopping to examine what looks like a deep wound, Rick gets up and keeps going with apparent nonchalance. He sits on a stool hosing his leg off. RICK Don't worry, Ma.
Wounds heal, and chicks dig scars.
Well, I may not be the spring variety, but I sure don't. She finishes cleaning the wound, gathers all the rags together, and prepares to head inside. Like a scavenger scrapping for survival, Rick strides into the kitchen, throws open the refrigerator, and scans the prospects. Every few seconds, he takes a slug of Gatorade from a large bottle on the counter. His mom enters.