[ It burns in his chest, and he's not even breathing in smoke. It burns because he's a little more tipsy than he is high, and the amount of alcohol he's had in the last few minutes loosens his tongue enough. Maybe Pinkman's not talking about a dog, maybe he's talking about himself or a kid or another person or even a fucking fern, but it doesn't matter. Finch scowls, and leans to flick Pinkman in the ear. Hard. ]
The fuck is wrong with you, huh? [ He doesn't mean for it to come out that way. but it does. ] You gonna just keep doing that? Huh? Fuckin' naysaying. Everything. Why I gotta get mad at you every time we talk lately?
[ He takes another swig from the bottle. ] Gonna kill the goddamn whatever. S'what you're gonna do. Is that what y'wanna hear? [ Jesse curls even more into the couch, pissily. ] You want a kid? Least you can have one. I mean - a fucking dog. Whatever.
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The fuck is wrong with you, huh? [ He doesn't mean for it to come out that way. but it does. ] You gonna just keep doing that? Huh? Fuckin' naysaying. Everything. Why I gotta get mad at you every time we talk lately?
[ He takes another swig from the bottle. ] Gonna kill the goddamn whatever. S'what you're gonna do. Is that what y'wanna hear? [ Jesse curls even more into the couch, pissily. ] You want a kid? Least you can have one. I mean - a fucking dog. Whatever.