“These fries smell a little off, Patrick.”
“Whadda you expect for free food, Zoidboro,” spoke the human across him more wisely than usual. He turns in his seat and peers at the stage. “When’s the band start here?”
“Oh, they’ll kick us hobos out long before the music begins, Pat. These are top dollar seats here!”
“Oh.” He then looks to his left. “So the Doc and his lady friends are just the first to arrive, huh.”
“Of course. Frozen Meat Waffles. A very popular band in Eotia Village, perhaps the most popular. We bought that ‘Human Flesh Zone’ CD back when we first arrived. Remember? Now I wish I had that money for some food, clothes, anything.”
“We can sell it.”
Zoidboro waves off Patrick’s again wise suggestion. “Ahh, I actually listened to it a couple of times while you were out on your walks. Knew you wouldn’t be interested. But it’s used goods now.”
“Still…”
“Nah. 5 (dollars) at best for a half dozen times played CD.”
“That’s a fresh Big Mike.” He glances down at the stale hamburger in front of him. “And a sloshie and some proper fries. This is the place to do it.”
Zoidboro wonders along with us, the readers, how Patrick suddenly became so wise. Then he realized: pregnancy. Coming to term. He was basically thinking for two now. And the baby must be smarter than he. Interesting. *I’m* smarter than he. More proof? He must induce that dream of Nevermore again. Or was it Nevermind?
The first band member to arrive sasheys through the front door.
By golly it’s Colonel Flagstaff. In a new disguise. Well, the same disguise we last saw him using over on the Omega continent, but in a quite different setting. And peddling a quite different commodity this time.
He approaches the pair in the booth; speaks in his cool, grunge voice.
“Used CD? Sell? I’ll buy it from you for a dream.”
Sunklands 