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              ❝ I can get you some water. ❞ He was obviously concerned about Paul’s state— and yes, while it was absolutely hypocritical of Elvis (of all people) to be chiding someone about the dangers of substance abuse, it showed that he cared. He returned with the glass of water (truth be told, his own head was pounding from the absinthe he’d so unwisely consumed the night before) and placed it on Paul’s bedside table. ❝ No, but seriously, you have to listen to me. ❞

                      “ THANKS, ”  is muttered before a beat where his fingers so clearly desire the glass.  “ Listen t ’ the preacher give me advice that he himself won’t take? Rich, honestly, that, ”  A short, cynical scoff as he reaches for the cup, feeling the ache all over his body now, before softening if only somewhat  ( & perhaps entirely internally, for his mind dwells elsewhere )  at the harsh reverb of his words.  “ You’re worryin’ yourself over nothin’, y ’ know, I’m still kickin’ aren’t it? ”  a sip is taken in which he distracts himself from the pain of the reality inside of him, words he spoke he knows are incredibly false, founded in protecting his ego, defending his pride, whereas years ago he was a different man… a boy. More open. More sensitive. Not quite as  TAINTED  &  WRONGED  by the harsh reality of the world during life after the BEATLES.  Inside, he knows. He knows he’s slipping … but he can’t help but  DENY  for the sake of his own image in the eyes of the younger …