He'd slouched onto the stool with a scowl that almost cleared the bar, and grouched that he wanted "whatever piss you've got- 'cause I ain't got nothin' but my bones, and they need some goddamn waterin'." Jim had snorted and poured him a whiskey, straight up. Which is good, because once Bones gets started on a tear, there is ![]() The Kikonese are a bit big- boned, sure, but they're loud and friendly and mind their own business. There are vast quantities of alcohol (the hard stuff), and a loud enough atmosphere so that swearing and ranting are par for the course. ![]() Complaining makes Bones happy, and Jim is a good friend. It's heart failure and obesity wrapped in stealthy delicious exteriors"). It's eugenics in reverse, goddamn it"), lots of fatty, starchy foods ("This is a heart attack waiting to happen. Do you know what would happen to your flesh and vital organs when you wipe out and are scraped over the pavement?"), the Kikonese restaurant five blocks down the road ("Kikonese III is a dirty backwater full of the obese. Which for them involves Bones bitching loudly about Jim's bike ("An invitation to death. He takes a second to make sure it's legible (Jim has been informed he could be a doctor, his handwriting's so bad, which is rich, coming from Bones), and then recaps the pen and goes to collect Bones for a good old-fashioned just-finished-ex ams-fuck-my-li fe celebration. ![]() He ducks into the empty classroom, and scribbles down the answer.
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