So what you’re saying — [Hank takes a long, slow sip of his milkshake] — is they got boots. But the boots fuckin’ suck.

[Probably should’ve expected that for the great price of “free.” But it’s good intel — something that Hank selfishly latches onto. Filing away for later. Because if clothes are free, and food is free, then other stuff has to be, too. Connor did say everything.]

Are the stores ever busy? People... I dunno, panic buying? Holiday shopping? They got holidays here?

[Leaving the grocery shopping till the last minute back home was a regular occurrence, often landing on the weekend. Run out of coffee? Well, goddamn, Hank — now you’ve gotta wait in line for half an hour for a bag of coffee and ten pounds of doggy kibble. Fuck the cost of expedited drone delivery.

Hank sighs. He’s getting ahead of himself, of course. Talking about boots and his distaste for technology when Connor is right here.]

I know you said the missions and everything are fucked up, but how are you holding up, Connor?

[He raises a hand.]

And don’t give me any sugar coated bullshit, all right? Tell me how you are. Really.