"Not smart enough, apparently, since he thought he could bullshit a bullshitter. Guess he really is a Jay after all."

He slams the end of his fork into the greenish mess on his tray. Prison food is, apparently, gritty and swirled with revolting grayish chunks, with a handful of some kind of cheap jerky stick on the side. His stomach was in knots even without this shit in his system. Right now, the lump in his throat is making it hard enough to swallow, let alone anything else.

"I was kinda thinking you were doing almost okay. Hadn't died or anything! Turns out that you're not really okay, now, are you?" Tim snarls at his tray of revolting fucking prison grub. "Turns out you're just lucky."