<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">"A supply run?" Roger mulled it over while scarfing down a portion of his dinner. "Sounds good," he continued with his mouth full. When he'd chewed and swallowed, he brought an arm up to wipe his mouth.<br/>
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"I could totally use some time out of this place. Sure, it's nice and all, but sometimes," he admitted, "it feels a little like lock up."<br/>
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He hadn't talked much with George about his time in prison. There was always too much going on, always that little nagging apprehension that he'd be judged. He knew it was more on himself than George; George never came off as judgmental, but it was a fear that was hard to get past sometimes.<br/>
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After a moment he chuckled. "Horses? What the fuck are we going to do if we find horses? I know fuck all about horses, and to my knowledge, correct me if I'm wrong, neither do you."<br/>
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He paused, "Do you?" He didn't actually know. In either case, the idea still sounded good and he was on board for it. He started shoveling food in his face again as he was waiting to hear some good old cowboy stories from his step dad that maybe he didn't know as much about as he thought he did.  </span>