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The hallway felt a lot more stable when Dale sat on the floor. Yes, the floor was industrial carpet over industrial concrete, but it got his weight off his aching feet. His butt recalled last night’s hour sitting on a hallway floor on the opposite side of the hotel, helping with the Chaos Machine and learning about Chester, and immediately declared its own protest. He’d successfully quietened his stomach’s rebellion, though it still issued bitter belches over the notorious Protein Bar Affair. His rioting heart had stopped hammering his head, abandoning aching temples behind it. His two hundred and ninety pounds dragged at every bone.
Congoers traipsed past, the tumultuous blend of casually dressed and meticulously costumed churning too quickly for Dale to sort any one person out. The
