"Okay." Of course she has. John would have liked to have met her, but he gets the feeling he doesn't belong here and it wouldn't really matter either way since he's not sticking around.

"I don't have a lot of options." He shoots Billy a dirty look, softened only by the fact that Billy isn't coming off as completely judgmental, or like he thinks he should know better. He doesn't have a car. He could probably figure out how to steal one, but then he'd have to learn how to drive. And he doesn't have the money for petrol. He doesn't have any qualifications, he can barely read. And everyone else has got support, resources for how to apply for jobs or schools or other things. John's just got his bag and whatever street cred he can muster up without getting his arse handed to him, or getting in trouble with the cops.

"You don't get it," John mutters, shutting down that avenue of conversation with his arms crossed, head tilted back looking up at the ceiling. He has a nice place to live. Nice clothes. Fridge full of food and nobody's threatening to put his head through the wall. What would he know about real life, anyway?