"Huh. Weird."

He flops on Z's bed like he lives here.

"What's your favorite weird bits you've had?"

"—oh, man. There's a lot."

He sprawls out next to him, thinks back.

"I got a thing...kind of like a mouth, like — here —"

He draws a line down the center of his abdomen.

"That you could fit your whole fucking hand inside, and just — touch whatever."

"Oh, fuck. That's wild. Did I try?"

He flattens his hand on Z's stomach.

"You said 'oh my god, gross, put your shirt back on'."

"And then you totally did try, yeah."

Camillo can't stop giggling for a solid minute.

"--okay. Okay." He coughs, and wipes his eyes. "So -- what's next? When's the next time we go out and do stuff?"

“…oh my god, you’re excited about the sex monster apocalypse.”

"In my defense, do you hear yourself right now!"

“…okay yeah fair.”

“But don’t go fucking — charging anything, okay? Let me scope it out. Your arms don’t grow back.”

"Okay, mom."

He swings around to put his feet on Z.

"Really, though, I wanna see stuff. C'mon. There's a whole world out there."

“…they might not want me to take another car after I just crashed this one. Pretty quick bike to the shitty little town over, though, we could hit some houses.”

"Sounds like fun to me. What do we do with houses?"

“Break into them and take stuff. Like, if nobody lives there.”

Sometimes if somebody does live there. He swears that one was an accident.

"What kind of stuff? Besides, uh, books?"

He swings his feet back over the edge of the bed, pulls Camillo up, and shrugs.

“Whatever’s good. We can write it down if there’s, like, really good furniture, or something, and come back with a truck.”

And back down the hall and out they go. Z stops by the bathroom to put things back in his pockets.