He's not a prisoner. John shrugged, looking irritated at his inability to express his thoughts. He's been inside all these months. Teresa smirked, turning her head away. He's been fine for the last three months.
Satellite dishes are much more reasonable.
His hands were already red and chapped from the cold. He d meant to get a pair of gloves. He just hadn't gotten around to it yet. He tucked his hands back up in his sleeves, with the cigarette barely poking out the end. The Bartletts' dog, a black Lab, was standing at the edge of their yard, peering at him through the mesh of the fence.