mr beast, in the back of a well appointed towncar. he presses the button to talk to the driver. he holds it down. he does not say anything. he simply breathes, into the microphone. the driver has not seen his family in five years
mr beast, swallowing the last of whatever it is that something like him eats. he looks up from the bowl to see his attendants. they fear him. and that is all that he sees anymore. he resents them. they do not understand. what he is. why he is here. they simply watch, in horror. because he makes them
mr beast, at the edge of a tv studio backlot. he's smoking a cigarette. he doesn't normally do this. he wishes he had an excuse. but it hasn't even been a hard day. he just, needed it. he has forgotten what it feels like to need anything, other than these small bodily experiences. he watches it burn
mr beast, eating alone at an ohio diner. his server, a young woman, comes over, refills his coffee. he pours a creamer into it without looking up at her. he has a lot on his mind. the woman takes it as a sign. she moves on. she's used to it. doesn't take it personal, anymore. mr beast isn't crying