Sour smoke rolls off his tongue. Stale. Frustrated, Jay mashes the cigarette to the ashtray, crumpling its paper shell. His restless, white hands writhe, finger roughly and unsteadily gripping at thin air.
Nothing. I have NOTHING...
Years of toiling over this... this man... (cuz that must be what it is...) for nothing...
That Goddamn Batman...
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