Jim looks back at the club, at the lights that spill out of it everytime someone opens the door, the flushed, exuberant faces of the people leaving in pairs.
"I can't," says Jim, for the thought of going back in there without Bones is awful. "I can't get with some stranger. I'm not near enough out of my head for that."
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"I can't," says Jim, for the thought of going back in there without Bones is awful. "I can't get with some stranger. I'm not near enough out of my head for that."