[His shoulder inches up just for a second when Chris whispers, and he laughs under his breath, his first laugh since all of this started.]
You'd have to sneak me out of here first. [His voice is just as low, conspiratorial, as he flicks Chris on the cheek with a gloved finger.] Then I'll make your damn sandwich.
spam
You'd have to sneak me out of here first. [His voice is just as low, conspiratorial, as he flicks Chris on the cheek with a gloved finger.] Then I'll make your damn sandwich.