Testing the panic response; a job interview.
When Bruce had seen the ad in the paper, after weeks of carefully searching both online and in person, his first thought was that he could eat real food again next week. Definitely something to look forward to. But even better than that was the prospect of employment he didn't have to worry about, where suspicions were unlikely. He would have to tone down his mechanical knowledge, make it come on gradually, and he would have to be meticulously careful since he'd see these people for, hopefully, quite a few months to come - but those were precautions he'd take anywhere.
He waited a couple days so it didn't seem odd before sending out his letter, and within a few days they'd arranged to meet up for an interview. Ever aware, Bruce surreptitiously scanned the exterior of the low end diner and its parking lot, watching for any loiterers or more obvious signs of law enforcement. After a good minute of observation, he was satisfied, and walked in, keeping his cheap wind-jacket on. It was only October yet, but Michigan was notoriously cold.
The place was lit dimly - not dark enough that it was obnoxious, but there was no way he could just walk through the maze of booths and tables and find someone that looked likely to be Will Graham.
After saying his name to the waitress doubling as hostess, she lead him to the appropriate table and left after taking his drink order (just water - he avoided caffeine at all costs). His prospective employer must've been using the facilities, because he wasn't in sight. Bruce settled into his seat and, as he was wont to do whenever he had a spare moment, slipped into his breathing patterns, glancing down at his pulse monitor. A sedate sixty-eight. Pleased at this, he could fell himself relaxing even further, and watched as it crawled down to sixty-six.
He waited a couple days so it didn't seem odd before sending out his letter, and within a few days they'd arranged to meet up for an interview. Ever aware, Bruce surreptitiously scanned the exterior of the low end diner and its parking lot, watching for any loiterers or more obvious signs of law enforcement. After a good minute of observation, he was satisfied, and walked in, keeping his cheap wind-jacket on. It was only October yet, but Michigan was notoriously cold.
The place was lit dimly - not dark enough that it was obnoxious, but there was no way he could just walk through the maze of booths and tables and find someone that looked likely to be Will Graham.
After saying his name to the waitress doubling as hostess, she lead him to the appropriate table and left after taking his drink order (just water - he avoided caffeine at all costs). His prospective employer must've been using the facilities, because he wasn't in sight. Bruce settled into his seat and, as he was wont to do whenever he had a spare moment, slipped into his breathing patterns, glancing down at his pulse monitor. A sedate sixty-eight. Pleased at this, he could fell himself relaxing even further, and watched as it crawled down to sixty-six.