... Look, uh. You don't want to really talk to me. I can tell, alright?

[He's kind of a meathead, and he can't remember being a swarmy ass, really, but he's got a feeling he must've done something that made him unpleasant company. That, or he's just got a face that screams 'Fuckboy'. He settles an arm across his ribs; they ache a little, but he's feeling less like he's gonna puke or fall over, now that he's sitting.]

I don't know what I did to piss you off, but if you don't want to stick around, it's all good. Really. I can figure out directions to... wherever I live.