Day 56: Twin Pines Restaurant (late afternoon)
Window shopping--no, that was too lofty a word to be used with this quaint town. Looking at things all day (yeah, that worked much better) was all well and good until the chilly air became less than bearable. With the sun sinking into the earth, the shadows grew across the sidewalk and made pockets of frigid air. The redhead groused with each
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Coffee would fix a lot of it. People bitched about it dehydrating, but it did more good than harm. Caffeine didn't make you piss that much. If it did, MIT would be exporting dead hackers instead of boy geniuses.
A good candidate for the title was looking morose at one of the tables. S.T. walked over, cane squelching with each step, and set his shopping bag on the floor. "You mind?"
He sat down before the answer, but with the chair angled away; if Mello didn't want company, he just needed to say it. S.T. just wasn't going to stand while he made up his mind. If it was going to be Revenge of the Zombies tonight, he could use a breather ( ... )
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Trying wasn't all that mattered either. None of that kindergarten everyone-wins New Games bullshit. But no-shows never won, and if you worked yourself into paranoid catatonia you weren't going anywhere.
Mello wanted to be convinced. S.T. could oblige.
"Either your crusade will still be there when these bastards let us go, or it won't." Or they'd flush their extra specimens down the drain, but Mello knew that was the option that they didn't talk about. Especially over a plateful of pork sausages. There was recycling and there was recycling. Mystery meat and Soylent Pink.
"Life's too short to spend it all miserable." He'd have said sober, but chemical relaxation might not be his thing. "Go be a fucking ( ... )
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