When I left the bathroom after showering and dressing myself, I found Henry leaning against the blue-painted wall in the corridor again, looking at his palm.
I contemplated flipping the coin on him to find out what was going on with that, though the most important thing was that I didn't notice him waking up with a seizure again.
Maybe it's just stress; maybe it's just all the traumatizing shit we went through coming out now that things are going 'slower.'
Fuck, I forgot to look into his conversation with my grandmother. I definitely have to do that now.
Henry looked up and made a hand gesture, ripping me out of my thoughts.
Like me, he was again wearing his contact lenses, leaning back and grinning at me; this time, I got a rock 'n' roll sign—or I don't know what it was exactly called: fist up, thumb, index, and pinky fingers raised.
Yes, yes, a gesture he had never done before: three fingers out this time, on the 'third day'—no need to spell the meaning out.
