"Shit, I broke it—" Ben looked at the shattered microwave, glancing back to you. As if you knew everything about this stuff, even though you too were sort of a senior citizen.

"Are you even—I broke that too, don't bother," he took the remote out of your hand, throwing it across the room into the trash. "I need sustenance, I'd kill for a fuckin' burger."

And a chick in his bedroom, but he doesn't mention that. You hit him over the head last time he did.

"Fuck! I'm a man, I don't cook shit."