A man said, standing up kicking pieces of the table away from his feet to help Zayne stand. “What a grand entrance,” the other said making Zayne look between the two, feeling sick, unable to find his equilibrium. “Shut up and let him catch his breath.” the woman said wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Zayne pushed the stranger’s hand away and sat back, putting his head between his knees,
“Did a number on him,”
“First time he has done that. Give him a break.” Feet appeared in Zayne’s vision, worn small pointed leather boots. The leather supple and so old they could have started any color but were now just an odd shade of gray. She squats to his level, he looked up to meet her gaze, the room no longer spinning. She had a round face with large freckles framing her almond-shaped eyes.
