“Careful.” South’s climbing onto the top of the soundstage bus. “Sejal will catch you on set after hours.”
Sejal smiles and scoots over; they dangle their feet. South realizes that, in two months, he’s never seen her sit still.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he asks.
“I am supposed to,” she says deliberately, “drunk.”
“On bourbon?” he guesses.
He nods; they headsmash imaginary cans.
After a while he lies back and she, not uncomfortably, puts her head on his chest. It’s a good view. The construction crew, with cranes and concentration, is suspending Seven’s trailer from the roof.