Eyebrow raise. Big guy must have eaten something bad. Or. . well, just a lot. Still, Bob’s holding a strawberry banana smoothie, slurping on it gently.
“. . we’ve got some meds in the kitchen, if you want some.”
He says, pointing at the tower behind them.
Head pounding, stomach in knots and holding back the urge to vomit, and clothes are tattered.
The big guy must have taken over last night. Excuse him as he gathers his bearings.