Chapter EighteenAs the mob streamed through the doors of the restaurant, Timothie and his friends hovered in the far upper corners of the room. The servers and chefs cowered in the back, unsure of what to do. Some called 911 on their cell phones. Sirens wailed down the avenue. The mass of yellow-goggled people crowded into Jane's Texas. Chairs smashed against the walls. Timothie and his friends dangled high above in the rafters, and Timothie suddenly laughed. The mob was unsure of itself. Groping with yellow goggles obstructing their vision, they paced like automatons into the corners, blindly searching for the perpetrators of disruption of world unity.
“Hey, Tim,” called Dareboy, his black jumpsuit with crimson logos on the arms superbly outlining his supple frame. “Here come de judge!”
