Tad's bedroom floor was moist. Heat came through the pads of his feet and as he reached for a thought, half-substantial in torrential soup, water clung and by vibration was wrung down his C-Pane like alcohol on wax paper. What to do tonight? He spun his C-Pane's dial 20 units to the left and it became clearer. Pressing his hand to the kosralite he felt some of the storm's chill. He liked storms. At his friend Neigh Ley's house they've Listeners for their C-Panes: family member says the word and they're clearer or more obscure. Tad wishes his home had those too but his grandmother says it's good he gets the exercise of dial-spinning. She says folks who get used to things doing what they're told get bossy. A loud rumble of thunder ripples the words out of him (dead beetle's beaten from a rug). He imagines himself out there. In the cold, shivering, hiding beneath trees so he can attempt sleep w/a little more warmth, dryness, and quiet. How terrible. Tad is switched on. He hops over to the family's underline EyeShare and calls Neigh Ley.
Neigh Ley is practicing his turntable task. If he shows his Master he can alter two classical songs well enough for them to be mistaken for a piece from the last decade he'll be a task closer to MC Journeyman.
At Tad's house a stand’in plays, "Peace be upon you, the day find you well. I'm not by my 'Share, what have you to tell?". Neigh Ley isn't that cordial in real life.
On Neigh Ley's personal EyeShare Tad is recorded -wild faced. "We should get a primitive man! I have it all figured out: we'll show him to the Donation Center so he's fed, let him hang around the houses and everything. Do you think our parents will go for it? Oh man, it'll be fab! It'll be like charity but we'll be like explorers too. Remember that show where they showed primitives Tutlos and they haunted? Who knows what he'll do. Is it just me, cause I think this'll be fun. Anyway...call me back man. If you wanna do this clear it w/your family and I'll check w/mine. We should get Jamin in on this. I'll show him next. Peace".
A boy about their age is tending a monkey-troupe for his kinsmen. It's almost butchering season. He's pretty close to the city where Tad, Neigh Ley, and Jamin live.
Throughout that city people walk for what else can they do? Driving, running, jogging, chatting, tick, heaving, drafting, thinking, ping, sleeping notches on the gear of a machine more smoothly oiled than any human invention had been because it’s eternal, complete, and the gloss of its’ sheen is light covering the cracks, empty gaps, in space where no matter has been.
On the very corner where Jamin’s house lingers is a singer screeching in off-key chords that clash. He gurgles words and gargles phlegm between bars. The parents of Jamin (Poty and Arha) say he’s a flimflam man but the cops who arrested him did so on accusations of insanity. In the sort of Singlepiece dress Pressers give he had shat and now sat w/orange-brown stains decorating his pantlegs, begging for cleaning. It’d take seconds for the Ward’s room-filling Presser to re-cover him in a new jute/nylon/hemp blend but instead he tears at his clothes, alternating between trying to strip and a forgetful warble. He has an audience of one. A young man who listens like the lyrics make sense and were made for him. Not by the madman in front but by some architect whose meaning shines through more than any smoke-wreathed fire could. A hairline fracture in Jamin’s composure is made by his Fuzzbuzz going off. He turns to leave -turns back -takes a step backwards -is turning around -looks backwards and w/a smile sardonic beneath defeated eyes he flees a public disturber hauled away in silence.
Neigh Ley shines his Crawler’s light on Jamin to get his attention.
“Who’s racing?” is Tad’s introduction.
Jamin watches as they hop between the skyscrapers framing his view, carried on legs like Dr.Octopus’s arms. ’cept they’re rusty, have holes here’n there, need some wires patched back in, and lock up w/out explanation. Neigh Ley’s driving and Tad’s riding. Jamin answers, “some Unifiers” w/none of the nerve his voice should have. He’s staring past the vehicle in front of him.
Neigh Ley (NL): What the fuck are they about?
Jamin (J): Arresting a Ward escapee.
NL: Just hide your Fuzzbuzz next time, pause it. They’re more scramble baited when we run.
Tad (T): We’re going to where the primitives live!
J: Why?
NL: See if we can get one to come back here.
T: Have a good time!
NL: Make a new friend!
T: See the crazy shit he does!
The boys on their Crawler are looking more at each other than Jamin. He was never watching them anyhow. He has been looking at what’s past the opaque Crawler.
Just that night our monkey shepherd went w/some younger children to the outskirts of their forest to peek at the place where the sun never leaves. His companions scream and run at the clamorous approach of something shiny and fast. Our monkey shepherd isn’t a coward. He stays to see what comes at him, notices boys his age inside, and is so scared the monster will eat him like it did them he becomes a bowling pin. The bowling ball stops before striking and the boys’ voices coming from it aren’t screams of pain or ghostly howls for help. They excitedly shout some gibberish and our monkey shepherd goes in for a closer look. The boys reach for him w/faces from families he has never met before. Our adventurous monkey shepherd clambers up and is taking a look around when he’s floored by this tame beast’s running. He’s looking back at the flashpoint-small and receding lookout point they’ve left and the concept of panicked flight tempts him. Instead he laughs hysterically. Jamin, Tad, and Neigh Ley are infected. Soon their laughter renders brush crunched under-sucker inaudible. Later they’re in the city.
They slide down an aisle of parked vehicles w/a train of sparks and bridesmaids of shadows and echoes. The front-left leg has a Charlie-horse or something; it’s seized up. Neigh Ley’s still fighting w/some levers when a leg crunches a parked motorcycle. “Fuck” is NL’s summation. He doesn’t need his friends’ urging to convince him to flee the scene. They’re preaching to the choir w/ “scramble!” and “fix it idiot!”.
In a parking complex’s elevator they sit in the crawler. The elevator chimes on the 8th floor and Tad successfully shows “the primitive” (as they’ve nicknamed him) how to help him and Jamin hold up the jammed sucker while Neigh Ley moves the three functioning legs.
Their first night had been planned out as reckless fun: club-hopping, going to Melta’s Hill (where the stars are very visible), putting a fresh coat of spraypaint on the elementary school they used to attend, calling up Vickie and Salrine, introducing The Primitive to firecrackers…instead they were working on Neigh Ley’s 2XE Phoryu. He had some tools for suction pad changes, lubrication, joint rebounding, and emergency containment. Neigh Ley thought the sub-supporting knee coil had popped and fallen ‘tween mech-muscles. The flashlight they had didn’t help; the leg would need taken apart to see if Neigh Ley was right. He messaged his house from the Controller’s console to explain their situation and get a Tower. Atleast while they waited it could be decided who would let The Primitive stay over first and in what order they’d rotate. He was having all kinds of fun w/the flashlight until Neigh Ley took it, saying not to waste the battery.
Tad had The Primitive convinced he should let his Retaster attach itself to his forearm by the time the Tower’s lights shined through the elevator grate.
J: You’ll have his appetite worked up for nothing. He’ll be starving by the time he’s back at your place.
T: Aw, he’s been hungry before. It’ll give him an idea what he wants to eat when he comes over. We can’t have fun w/him just talking yet. Gotta occupy him somehow. Don’t want him thinking it’s more boring out here than in the wilds.
Jamin offered The Primitive his cigarette but he solemnly refused and J didn’t insist. The city-boys didn’t know where he was raised smoke was only inhaled w/a holyman presiding and these boys were too young to’ve learned their medicine.
On the ride to his house Neigh Ley slept, The Primitive kept tapping the “next” button to taste a different flavor Tad had recorded, and Jamin watched the blur of buildings.
Neigh Ley paid the Tower his three Zirconias, Tad got their new buddy to come w/him and Jamin walked home alone. A distance obscured face was laying its’ melody on him and when he was close enough to smell dried urine from a new Singlepiece he knew who sung. He saw the face of a former teacher. But the re-freed man’s discordant concert wasn’t addressing Jabin as it had before.
Before going to sleep Asher (Tad’s family didn’t care for “The Primitive” moniker) had a piece of Granma’s Sweetmeat pie, oven-hot. When Asher comprehended that Tad was asking him what flavor he liked the most it had been his selection. Tad’s dad, who actually knew a few words of French, sufficiently explained Asher could stay w/them three days, he’d be provided food and a place to sleep, and could go home whenever he wanted. Didn’t want the boy feeling kidnapped.
Tad and his guest stayed up ‘til dawn broke, playing games. The games Tad played were controlled through voice modulation and Asher, not knowing the language they were made for, got wild results when he tried. Though he kept dying, insulting a potential ball date, or farting on a friendly character he was having fun and so was Tad. They snacked on Segmen’s Tart Recipe berries and Tad laughed as the cutouts Asher controlled slid around the room spastically. Tad was in for a surprise too because a movie didn’t astound Asher. He’d seen one somewhere before; a visitor must’ve brought a camera. Asher‘s requests reinforced Tad‘s conclusion.
Tad started nodding off and Asher woke him. They went up to Tad’s room where a spare bed had been prepared on the opposite wall. Asher felt so excited he thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep but his awareness faded rapidly. Fortunate for him because Tad snored something horrible.
Past noon the gang of four were reassembled and had decided where they’d take Asher first. Tad’s proposal of Chik-Chik Gore aroused the most approval. The next district over had a cool mall they’d initially wanted to visit but w/Neigh Ley’s Crawler undergoing a repair of blooming complexity a walker-convenient location was necessary.
Chik-Chik Gore used to be more underground. Beast battlin’s a movement initiated between history-anonymous hobbyists in basements and parking lots. Gamblers, ever sniffing for a fix, found out the contests and bookies, trailing their hosts, began transforming friendly competition into a business. Chik-Chik Gore’s owner, Dubas, claims they were the first club in the city to exhibit contests between engineers’ creations but that’s contended. When Jabin found the place and his friends gained interest they felt sleek, in an expedition of the minority to lands more amazing. Then some tv-exec caught on to the aggrandizing money pot and the first beast battlin’ show on the net netted millions of viewers. Advertisers tricked-out the club, contributions accepted by the agreeable sell-out Dubas, and now it shone w/neon, 2d holograms painted its’ walls w/short animated ads or 2-3 ads in one space. The place irritated Tad on approach. It was a sensation of nettles in his clothes: prickling as an arm bent or leg lifted. The boys still gained some feeling of counterculture because Chik-Chik Gore had gained a bouncer that charged an entrance fee to the heroes who braved its’ hours-long line. D. Rail (whose real first initial was D though he’d never admit to the name indicated) let the boys in through a side door. He was a friend from when the pits weren’t viewed by strangers in their homes, back when you atleast knew everyone else’s face (exempting newcomers).
There was a beam Neigh Ley lifted the other boys up to reach and then jumped to himself. They balanced on the beam, grabbing each other if tottering and the one nearest the wall studying them all w/it. They had a better view than everyone except engineers, cameradrones, the front row of the crowd, and golden circle tv viewers. Neigh Ley couldn’t express it but the spectacle had become blasé to him. Yet Asher’s enthusiasm renewed his enjoyment.
After the third fight -in which a buzzsaw trap caught blue team’s Minicabra, was intermission. The boys hopped down from the beam and left the way they’d came: ahead of the crowd.
The sunshine was a blight on them as they exited and smoke pillars in many colors wavered from trash fires threatening to raise their lungs an Exposure Level. In this neighborhood most houses didn’t come w/trash refiners.
“Hey Asher, see anywhere you wanna go?” Tad asked encouragingly as the boys slowly meandered across the Heavenview. Asher didn’t seem to hear; Tad kept trying to get his attention; attentive to the question Asher answered w/a “no” already having picked up this thrown-around word. The boys were a bit impressed. Tad disappointed. “You don’t want to go anywhere Asher?” was formed w/concerned teeth and voice-box. Asher slapped his palm against his chest “no Asher, yes Blaise”. So that’s his real name. After the boys had tested out this new sound-identifier they found Blaise had another initiative, a visit to the clothing store which showed its’ wares w/an unwalled side facing the Heavenview. Blaise and Tad ran on inside Cutter’s Covers while Jabin loitered near the entrance. Jabin took out a pinch of chewing tobacco and mulled over it thoughtlessly.
“What’re you curs doing out here?” intruded the voice of Jacker Qui, stepping down the steps his Rhino came w/standard. “Hey Qui” acknowledged Neigh Ley timidly. “Still in your cousin’s old Phoryu?” insulted Qui. Jabin had turned to see Jacker Qui and waited for greater-than-usual intervals before spitting. While talking, Jacker Qui threw his arms over Neigh Ley’s shoulder, leaned in, stood straight while lifting NL from a stooped posture, let go, slapped his chest, and in a multitude of ways kept moving his feet, touching, and alternating the decibels of his speech drastically. “I’m fucking around man, better any crawler than none.” Neigh Ley opened his mouth and pointedly looked to the side in a “well…” expression that’d lead into him saying something if Qui had noticed. “You know I’ve been looking to sell my Rhino to pre-order one of those Esty-Ds coming out. Would you be interested? I know some guys who deal in 2XE parts; w/the trade-in we could work out a price you can afford. What do you think, eh?” Now Qui was listening. “I’m comfortable w/what I’ve Qui but I appreciate the offer.” “Why so fucking formal? We’re friends here, right? How does 300 zirconia’s sound?” Neigh Ley didn’t dare speak but shook his head. “You fucking bitch. Fine then. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Or I’ll find another buyer. I’m asking around.” Qui inhaled a pill through his nose that was so small Jabin and NL couldn’t see it between his thumb and forefinger. Jabin risked, “phosphuasca burns holes in your skull-” “why the fuck you telling me! I don’t use it.” Jabin kept chewing. Jacker Qui’s face went from furious to a suggestive smile. “Do you want some though?” Nobody said anything diverting Qui’s attention so Jabin’s hope gave out and he replied, “no” in a voice you’d lose to the crowd if you didn’t know him.
JQ: “Where’s Tad?”
NL: “He went shopping w/Blaise”.
Blaise had left Cutter’s Covers and went through the left door to enter Bodypaints. The door-covers were effective enough in showing what the stores on the other side dealt in that he’d soon moved far from Pittle Heavenview, “the Heavenview” Jabin, Jacker Qui, and Neigh Ley killed time at.
JQ: Who the fuck is Blaze?
NL: Blaise is this primitive we picked up-
JQ: You’re a fucking kidnapper!
NL: We didn’t kidnap him; we invited him on, he came on, and-
JQ: He hopped on and you took off. A primitive doesn’t know what the fuck a crawler is. Did you ask his parents or try to tell someone else where he’d be?
NL: Yeah, his whole familiy knows and they’re cool w/it.
JQ: Yeah?
NL: Yeah.
Jabin was tempted to tell the truth but who knows what’d happen then. Neigh Ley was feeling guilty and thinking he should return Blaise to his very hut once Tad returned w/him.
JQ: Where is this Blaze? I’d like to meet the kid.
Business associates who’re two years older than Qui are among the people he’ll refer to as ‘kid’.
NL: Tad and him are shopping.
JQ: Fags’re probably eloping. That reminds me: I’ve a gift for him. Donkey pills for only 2 Zirconia each.
NL: What’s he want one of them for?
JQ: Haven’t you heard -I thought you were his friend- he has a date w/Gijella. One of these motherfuckers’ll let him pound that pussy like a jackhammer.
Jacker Qui finished pumping his fist. Jabin and Neigh Ley nodded when he looked at them. Maybe because he had spit out the last of his chew-wad Jabin said, “the Donkey pills aren’t a gift if he’d have to give you 2 zirconia for each.” Qui watches Jabin questioningly. “That’s right I’m a motherfucking thief. I steal from my friends. Give me your z-pouch then.” Jabin doesn’t laugh but he waits for the joke to end. Jacker Qui pulls a knife and at its’ insistence Jabin reaches for his z-pouch. Qui puts up his hands and laughs hysterically. “I’m just messing w/you man; don’t be so serious. Aw, man, you guys are funny. We should hang out more.” NL was going to ask what Qui had come to the Heavenview for but he heard the electronic buzz of an internal earpiece. When Jacker Qui was done listening to the message he said goodbye, mounted his crawler, and bounded onto the roof of Cutter’s Covers.
Since Jabin was relaxing w/a second wad of chew Neigh Ley used his headset to find out where Tad was and what they were up to. Blaise had led Tad through enough stores that they had almost come out into the next heavenview, Ithvay’s Heavenview, the one nobody goes to. Neigh Ley told him he and Jabin would meet them on Westfire street, outside A Better World, which’s the store between Ithvay’s Heavenview and Westfire street. When they assembled they caught up on what’d happen. Blaise was carrying a bag in which was a Gutgrinder, a cheaper beast more suitable for petting than professional battlin. Blaise had become so excited over it Tad bought it for him as a souvenir. While they were talking Blaise ran to another building across the street and entered it, not looking back, used to Tad loading next to him. Neigh Ley noticed and the other boys blanched at the building he’d enter, rushing behind NL (after a momentary hesitance) to catch their friend.
Blaise was befuddled by a door that beeped at him but would not open. Beyond it were terminals w/wall-filling monitors that folks sat at to watch other people. Blaise had turned around to leave when Neigh Ley rushed in, grabbed him, and split a duty between dragging and carrying w/Tad+Jabin to get Blaise out. Tad looked around to make sure Unifiers weren’t coming; Neigh Ley ran into a store-unit that’d had its’ fire damage repaired but no new leasers. Once Jabin pulled Blaise behind him they were all inside. Blaise shook off Jabin’s hand; he was too old for that. Tad was staring wide-eyed at Blaise to make sure he kept meeting his eyes, speaking slowly and w/forced emphasis to explain (gestures and insta-print pictures aiding) that buildings w/the symbol of an eye of Horus were not to be entered. NL was exploring the building for lost goods, other occupants, sections about to collapse, escape routes, or anything else of interest. Blaise’s replies showed enough comprehension of the language that Jabin said, “there’re Leaders, Voters, Watchers, and Justicemen. We (he swept his hand in a polygon, pausing at himself and the other two) are voters. The building you went in is for Watchers. If we were caught the Unifiers might think we’re trying to watch someone and then we’d lose our voteseals and be nothing.” His concern was actually excessive. They hadn’t even entered the building proper; there’s no penalty for walking up to the entrance. Had they broken in there’d atleast be a fine depending on circumstance. Their punishment would only be severe if they were Leaders. When a Watcher reports a leader has tried to spy on opposition (the presumed motivation for forced entry) his life’s put to the Voters and when voted against Justicemen detonate his implants. Each tier of Leader requires a new implant so their detonation becomes increasingly severe in effect from a loss of citizenship to paralysis/lobotomy to death.
They wandered from that condemnable building dazed/drowsy as lightning-struck Blue Footed Boobies. That’s when Jabin suggested, his mind brought to politics, they visit the forum where a new tax levy was being debated for voters on Tad and Jabin’s block. W/out understanding NL said sure but first they had to get Blaise home. After his panicked friends became so emphasized in their speech to him, pronouncing each word w/leaden tongues, he said he was ready to go home. No one uttered a polite, “we’ll visit”. Blaise said they didn’t need to walk w/him into the forest, Neigh Ley insisted they would but soon his will was worn away, they’d already walked far to reach the forest, too addle-brained to ask a parent for a ride, and turned saying goodbye. Blaise decompressed the packaging of his Gutgrinder on the way home. He left the box on the forest floor, his first bit of littering.
Neigh Ley’s tired legs filled him w/want for transport and he called a Taxi for himself and his friends. He was dropped off at the shop working on his Crawler (they were open 24/7). NL had paid for it to take them the rest of the way to their block’s forum so Tad rode and walked, still senseless, following Jabin to where the debaters roared.
The room was small but shaped to amplify the banter of those opposed men getting their faces red and spitting at each other w/every inflector in the center. Speakers helped sitters furthest from the action hear. This sport supported audience participation. Boos, hisses, middle fingers, cheering, clapping, whistling at the best insults, and obscenities screamed so roughly their syllables muddling into unintelligible babble peppered the main attraction. Watching the scene through a camera’s playback at the right frame-speed you’d notice stances flow through the audience: the left section sitting down as the right stands up, viewers in front throwing their hands in the air before v-formations behind them respond w/hands likewise held aloft. The assembly was a single body, writhing in frustration at a grievous internal conflict. Jabin and Tad seated themselves w/other youths. The closest they could get together was on either side of a stranger who they’d have to speak over. They’d come late; the coals had burned white-hot long before they’d passed the door and now embers settled, sputtering, coughing out final heat like a death rattle. Yet fire remained in the speaker.
“…as well invade the forests and take the primitives land! We don’t need the militia mobilized anymore. Zure’s armies have been routed to a man! The guerrilla forces, spies, and subversives my opponent swears are among us -so many they could be a voting demographic {chuckles versus glares in the audience}- hide well enough to be invisible. If we can’t find evidence such enemies even exist why should we fund troops to fight against them? Who can search out and find phantoms? I’ll tell you what our militamen will find: innocent citizens. They’ll have to bring in husbands, wives, children, and the elderly under false charges to maintain this charade. I say those against our armies disassembly are liars! Fearmongers! He says {pointing at the other man, arm held out like a drawn machete} the price is worth peace of mind. Huh. Here’s a piece of my mind: the militia shouldn‘t be on the march or garrisoned anymore. There’re reports of our soldiers in Osnam territory. Will they provoke a war just to have a purpose? If we pay them today when and how can we ever bring an end to the practice? My opponent proposes an extension of the Call to Assembly. There already has been one extension and no invasion of our lands took place during it. This new extension is longer than the last! That’s how it’ll happen: 1 year longer, 2 years longer, a decade, two, and finally someone will say what’s been on the militia-general’s mind all along, ’why don’t we have the military assembled permanently?’. A soldier who is not killing our enemies is a parasite and when we have no challengers new enemies will be made to make military funding pertinent. My opponent claims we’re showing compassion for those who’ve saved us from Zure. But how can our character persevere if we become an imperial power like those invaders we drove out? A permanent military (for that’s where this is heading) is no favor to the militiamen. They want to go home to the families they’ve fought for. A militiaman wants to come home to his children laughing, parents approval, and wife’s cooking just as much as the next man. I’ve talked w/militiamen; I have family who are militiamen; they want an end to their deployment. A man doesn’t risk his life for a paycheck. He risks it so something he loves may live. {His speech slows, sincere sadness creeps into his face}. If these men are made to be an auxiliary to the Justicemen then they break our law; hatred’s all they’ll have to give. If the militia goes past our borders then General Whijef has overcome Zure to take his position.”
What the Militia Disbandment Speaker intended as a poignant closure w/silent after-moments during which the quieting audience would mull over his words was instead the signal for the Stay Standing Speaker to fire off.
“My opponent paints the world in black and white simplicity. But that is not the place we live. This world is complicated, even convoluted at times, and it takes careful consideration to understand anything. He’d have you choose between a permanent imperial/unifier militia or a return to normalcy but those aren’t the only options. Those aren’t the options at all. I don’t want our nation to always have an army at the ready. I don’t doubt our strength when assembled or the fear we’ve placed in outlying nations hearts is enough. He burns a strawman. It isn’t only the need to root out hidden agents that gives our militiamen purpose but the final destruction of Zure’s forces. They’ve fled us into neighboring countries seeking sanctuary w/those we thought allies. We’ve already sacrificed much in men and material to keep Zure from his genocidal claim to our land and what we’ve lost will be for naught if Zure’s men reassemble and return to conquer us. Where they have gone we must follow; the conflict between us must be finished. What he says {indicating Militia Disbandment Speaker} contains truth; we’re not fighting off invaders any more. But ignoring soldiers who want to attack us yet haven’t because they were dispersed at the war’s end isn’t a state we can continue. Eyes sewn shut, lips stuck w/glue, and fingers in the hollows of our ears we can sit in darkness, mute and deaf to the boot steps gathering at our doors and then we’ll be at war in our homes, on the enemy’s terms again. When we finish the last vestiges of Zure’s forces, leaving no three men to plot together, then our militia won’t be necessary. Those who say we shouldn’t have to give our zirconias unless there has been a battle in the last month should look further than their personal accounts. Then they’d see excursions beyond our borders are the only safeguard against a ransacking of our personal belongings. ‘Give some now and you’ll save a lot. W/hold what you can give now and you’ll lose whatever you bought.’ I also am very sorry to hear my opponent’s comment about General Whijef and ask him to retract it from our debate’s Final Record as I’ll retract this reference.”
It seemed to Jabin the room shook from the uproar. People were firecrackers whose fuse-spark had reached powder. Because the crowd was mingled (a woman screaming that the statement should be retracted jumped next to a man barking his hate at the request) no one could tell what the majority wanted other than to be loud.
Tad had to use Jabin’s receiver line to be heard.
T: I have a date w/Gijella tomorrow. I’m gonna leave, get an early sleep. I’ll see you later.
J:...
T: Jabin?
J: You decided who you’ll vote for?
T: No, I wasn’t really listening. Here {puts his seal in Jabin’s palm} you cast my vote on this one.
J: Alright, I’ll see you man. Bye.
Tad headed out. He’ll wake earlier than usual to fuss about his clothes, hairstyle, smell, and how to get the waiter to give him the check w/out her knowing. (Gijella insisted on paying for her food; Tad preferred he cover the cost). Neigh Ley is riding his repaired Crawler home. Jabin’s still at the debate.
