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Surge led Dale back down the hallway leading towards the stairs, coming to a stop by the same bench Dale had plopped down on as he left the auditorium. The cinderblock walls gleamed with fresh off-white paint, giving a slight echo to the rumble of conversation drifting from the entrance hall. The floor waxing machine had moved out of hearing, but a distant aroma of freshly polished linoleum tile still underlay the air.
“This’ll work,” Surge said, swinging his tiny backpack off his shoulder and plopping his bulk onto the wooden bench. He rubbed his round red face with hands like hams. “Sheesh, what a day.”
“Yeah.” Dale sank onto the bench, turning sideways so he didn’t have to slip out of his heavy pack. Unless they were staying put for half an hour or so, getting that bag off his sho
