[It's a pretty admirable observation and about as much as can be expected from anyone without the context of what the fuck went down in his universe. No one can blame you for being closer to the outfield than any actual bases.

Dave actually pauses there, making a face at the ceiling that's a little bit mild frustration, a little bit grim acceptance. It's not aimed at Grif, at least. The ceiling is just a decent enough stand-in for his whole life right now.]

I'm not going for anything. My ass is firmly planted here, not metaphorically moving towards any goal in particular. Shit back home just turned super fuckin' incomprehensible at some point and I think only like a handful of us ever really got a handle on all of it. Nonsense words became half our vocabulary at some point and you just had to learn to roll with it or go completely apeshit.