Blacktail Deer Plateau I'm not actually sure what a movie is anymore

He insulted the man's presence, his looks — and nothing. That told the boy that the wound was likely old, or he presumed as such. Maybe that the man wasn't as vain as some others; less inclined to incite violence or anger when confronted with an obvious truth such as his injury and ugliness. Reyes did not get much of a response at all from the man. He was like a drifting chunk of ice surrounded by the eddies of false snow.

What is your name, the man repeats, firm, focused. Not entirely desirous of the answer judging by the edge to his eyes, but alas, Reyes didn't care one way or the other. He wasn't going to give him what he wanted (for no clear reason either, as Reyes was not often this barbed in his associations). He snorts softly and pointedly ignores the question.

Hm. If not the quakes, something else. He mused to himself while watching the dancing dust; it fell like rain but never in a straight line, falling in the haphazard way that a feather might, or a leaf, too light to stay the course. I used to watch these giant seals down at the beach. Bigger than you by far, and loud too, always barking at the sun as it rose. They're probably all dead now though. He imagined their bloated bodies bobbing along the coast; how many would wash up along the Sound in the coming days, and all that fetid meat left to waste in the sand. You ever see one of those?

What was the point of this conversation? He didn't really have one in mind; he was passing the time, waiting for the world to end — at least, that's how it felt right now. His family was splintering apart and he had said goodbye to home, so what was left for him but this frail moments, these amusements?