2
The Man in the Weathercoat
Rain asked so many questions I thought he’d never let me sleep, but around midnight, he suddenly quit talking, in the middle of a sentence. That would have been great, except he didn’t exactly fall silent; instead, he began to make a faint keening sound, like the wind, only higher-pitched and more constant. “Orbital,” I muttered. If the pillow had smelled fresher, I’d have clamped it over my head. “Roomies with a snoring alien.”
The sound kept on. I opened my eyes and looked at Rain in the uncertain light that spilled from the flashing red holosign of the tavern across the road. He had pulled all his tentacles into a tight ball atop his stalk, which pulsed slowly. I swallowed. I’d seen just about everything on the streets of Fistfight City, and never had a n
