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If Dale left the hotel for dinner, he might not have the energy to return.
That left finding food in the con suite.
And almost five PM was sort of dinnertime. Close to it, at least. They might have a real meal.
The Willow Tree Inn lobby felt even more crowded than the night before. The kaleidoscopic churn of costumes and faces, the hurricane of conversations and laughter and shouts, and the tangled aromas of carryout Thai and Chinese and pizza all combined into an oncoming barrage of sensory overload that stopped Dale as firmly as a brick wall. The two dozen shin-high robots performing an Irish step dance didn’t help.
Dinner was through the crowd, to the left.
It was only a crowd. They wouldn’t bite him.
But every one of those faces broadcast emotions and attitudes. Dale had spen
