[Some hours after
this.]The sun's slanting toward the western horizon by the time he reaches midtown. It's the last stop he's got planned; none of the others, aside from the first one or two to collect supplies, have borne any fruit at all -- and even on those, people who should have recognized him showed no sign of it
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"I'm sorry," she says to him through the glass, "we're about to close."
(It's barely five o'clock. Alcina's is usually open well into the night hours.)
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