“You’ve got so much crammed down your throat, I don’t know how people even enjoy themselves.” He was glad Rick shared his views, although he wasn’t surprised. Steve knew he and the Colonel had more in common then blond hair and blues eyes. He was tempted to ask how’d he’d been, but no one fared well after the gala. “I’m guessing you’re not dressing up for that carnival.”
“Hey… ‘least we don’t got any brats to put up with.” And that counted double, even triple, for Babysitter Rick Flag Jr. There had been a small sense of wonder when Rick first approached Steve at the gala–as haughty as Rick had come off, respect was there. Soldier to soldier. Now, that small ignorant idolization had been puffed out. He had so much on his mind, but he didn’t take it out on anyone except for himself. Per usual. “I’d rather step on a landmine. Honestly.” The Colonel still thought he was hilarious, deep down, and forced himself to chew off the corner of a very dry brownie.
