（ you come across gene sittin' on a porch swing with a baby cow across his lap, suckling at a bottle. he's petting it gently with his other hand, murmuring soft, quiet little things to it. poor thing barely looks but a few days old, an' don't seem to have much control or command over its movement just yet. one little swing of its head butts up against gene's chest and he oofs faintly with the impact.
if you know him in new amsterdam, he looks much the same. tired, a little worn, gray at his temples. sun-darkened skin that's peeling a little on the bridge of his nose. he's wearing a button-down that's rolled to the elbows, an' he doesn't seem to be payin' the heat much mind.
when he sees you, he glances up an' lifts the little cow to heft it an' himself closer to one edge of the swing. ）
Another one'a them dreams, I reckon? C'mere — ever seen a baby cow?
gene ↪ closest to heaven that i'll ever be (ota)
if you know him in new amsterdam, he looks much the same. tired, a little worn, gray at his temples. sun-darkened skin that's peeling a little on the bridge of his nose. he's wearing a button-down that's rolled to the elbows, an' he doesn't seem to be payin' the heat much mind.
when he sees you, he glances up an' lifts the little cow to heft it an' himself closer to one edge of the swing. ）
Another one'a them dreams, I reckon? C'mere — ever seen a baby cow?