[He shakes his head. Rests a hand on the grip of the shovel. Loosely. The pile still waiting to be levered off. It's just a beat. A space in between. But it feels weighted, somehow. Packed down, like footprints left in the snow.]
It has to be done eventually.
[More idle. Just a conversation, more or less. It shouldn't feel as if he's walking a tightrope.
It doesn't. Not entirely. Not as much as it maybe should.]
no subject
It has to be done eventually.
[More idle. Just a conversation, more or less. It shouldn't feel as if he's walking a tightrope.
It doesn't. Not entirely. Not as much as it maybe should.]
You can wait inside, if you'd like.
[A gesture to the church. Almost a shrug.]