Despite the winks she’d caught on the bench, Malibu was still tired, and she could hear her bed calling to her. Her stomach was speaking as well, howling for food. Did she eat dinner last night? Malibu couldn’t remember. The previous night felt like it had happened weeks ago. But as she thought back on the flow of events, she decided that after shopping for her black arsonist outfit she had been so amped she neglected to eat.
Next stop: Vic’s.
The joint was hopping. It was so crowded, Malibu couldn’t get one of her standard booths and was seated at a two-chair table right next to the kitchen. She ordered a veggie omelet, home fries, and an English muffin. Not wanting to be juiced with caffeine, she skipped the coffee and ordered OJ. When the food arrived, it was warm and perfect and Mali
