20
I sit in Betsy’s shabby front seat, still wearing Lincoln’s tunic. The evening sky is giving over to morning; a soft glow lines the horizon. I think through last night with Lincoln and smile my face off. We walked through the maze for hours, talking. I now know his favorite kind of music (jazz), least favorite word (moist), and nastiest all-time fear (invasion of Antrum). We debated which demons are hardest to fight, easiest to track, and have the worst personal hygiene. I explained to him at length why Frankenberry cereal rocks, Cissy and Zeke can get annoying, and reruns on the Human Channel are the bomb. Poor guy doesn’t even have a phone, they’re so nuts about security in Antrum, let alone television. I felt it my moral duty to educate him.
I bang the steering wheel with my fist.
