[Probably a mercy that Shuichi doesn’t ask, since it would require some negotiating in an area full of tender wounds. As far as Dixon’s aware, he’s just someone who’s always been pretty bad at English and had to make it work anyway. He’s heard the term ‘dyslexia’ on TV, but it’s like hearing about things in far-off places: no impact, no recognition, no relevance to his own life, as distant as Ebola or ocean coasts or New England autumns. A factoid about other people and places that aren’t Ebbing, Missouri.

He looks back at Shuichi with a bit of a puzzled expression, like he doesn’t quite get why Shuichi is second-guessing his attempts at comfort. It seems obvious to him; Shuichi’s clearly in a mood and those moods don’t tend to go great places, not with teenagers or anyone else. And seeing as it doesn’t cost Dixon anything to try and alleviate that, of course he’ll offer.]

It’s not like I got anything better to do. I already went through the...Wawa, or whatever. Stupid-ass name. [He pats the cigarette pack in his pocket, the most prized possession of his meager haul.] You like a certain genre?