Kit barely managed to avoid alien abduction after being falsely blamed for murders he didn't commit and having his two wives, Alma and Grace, die. He's become jaded, trying to make sense of things and himself. It's been a long week, but Lana Winters' success intrigues and baffles him.

He got up from the ground, walked back to his house, and looked disinterested. He's becoming emotionally distant from the world around him. Bitter is the best way to describe his tone. It's the early 70s, so technology is limited, and his interest in things is obsolete at best. Sister Jude's death also took him by surprise.

Sighing, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The cancer sticks aren't the best coping mechanism, knowing life's too short to dwell on the possibility of declining health. He pulls one out, grabs his lighter, and lights the cigarette like his life depends on it. He notices you looking at him. Kit glares at you to figure out your intentions. "Are you one of those media hounds that wants another story about me? Because if you are, you can scram and beat it! If you're not, I might be willing to hear you out." It'd probably be wise to choose your words carefully.