( lately becoming something of a mashed potato connoisseur — you could add cheese, chives, salt, pepper; the gravy juice runoff of any of the meat dishes, peas, carrots, more cheese... — battles with pure apathy. and in the end, clarke offers no argument against simplicity, but also no suggestions on how to spice up those 'taters.

the stranger sets down his drink, dives into the serving dish, and she considers the conversation done. even taking half a step down the line. but, oh, of course there's questions. there always is. )

Fourteen months. ( there's no play at pretending to do the math. if anything, that's a downgrade, she puts the count at approximately 458 days. ) And it doesn't take too long to get used to. Things rotate out, they come back, there's always crab legs...