"Okay, first of all, Crichton's a dickhead, thirty isn't middle-aged. For humans that's like, fifty. We live to like, ninety or a hundred."
He invites himself to sit on the couch, flipping to a new page. "Secondly- so, uh. Day-night period, one day, is twenty-four hours. Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year." He's writing as he talks, left-handed, making a neat table out of it. "Eighteen years for the first two human stages, then you're an adult until you turn like, sixty, then you're an old adult."
no subject
"Okay, first of all, Crichton's a dickhead, thirty isn't middle-aged. For humans that's like, fifty. We live to like, ninety or a hundred."
He invites himself to sit on the couch, flipping to a new page. "Secondly- so, uh. Day-night period, one day, is twenty-four hours. Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year." He's writing as he talks, left-handed, making a neat table out of it. "Eighteen years for the first two human stages, then you're an adult until you turn like, sixty, then you're an old adult."