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Summary
“It’ll be fun,” Marge says to him over the phone as he’s unpacking another box in his tiny, studio apartment. “I’ve been to a few other classes, it’s a good environment.”
“It doesn’t sound like my sort of environment, Marge,” Gale says, picking up an astrophysics textbook that pushes the bounds of what a single-handed grip is capable of. It strains the tendons in his wrist as he tries not to drop it on the way to its new home in the built-in bookshelf. The edges of it are bloated, almost rubbery with how many times it’s been painted over in the same shade of white, a few spots chipped away to show rich brown wood underneath.
“Your sort of environment is on a hill with a telescope, with nobody around.”