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Dale felt as graceful as a Beluga whale attempting to beach itself on a convenient glacier, but sank to the hallway carpet without spilling himself or his sandwich. Nobody laughed at him, so he couldn’t have been too clumsy. The smooth-looking carpet felt deceptively coarse under his palm. The rickety tower of plastic rods suddenly loomed over him, the weight of all the clips and connectors seemingly ready to tumble it down. The aroma of his peanut butter sandwich both taunted and repelled him. His feet didn’t stop hurting, but having a seat stopped them from aching any worse.
He’d love to take those awful shoes off. Maybe fling them into the trash.
And watch Chain, Imena, Tamora, and, and— Solvent, that’s it, Solvent!—and everyone else within a dozen yards pass out from the fumes? C
