"I hate all of you," Presley declares, because it's been almost twenty-hour hours since the last time he said it, and familiarity brings comfort. He inches over to Felicity (every self-preservation instinct in his brain screaming) and sets his loaded tote bag down on the ground. Presley forces himself to stand right by the railing, and readies to grab Felicity in case something disastrous happens.
MEMORY: Practice