Thursday, January 05, 2012

N6 Against the Cult of the Dain part 2

Hull kept the coach going on gas money donations he dutifully collected from everyone who entered.  He held several Dungeons and Dragons games running so there was always a gang coming or going.   He mostly ate the snacks that always seemed to show up with these event and happily claimed any leavings.  A sordid diet for a diabetic, which Hull was, often leading to wild insulin fits.

Under the knit afghan Hull stirred to wake, a hand rubbing a balding head that longed to be shaggy and worn long. He blew his nose honking hard into a dish towel, already full of unsavory things.  Soon he was to his feet and walking.  The light trickled through the trees on the lands of my youth.  But I wasn't there and these placed didn't mean much to Hull, he was looking for someplace to eat.

The meal et and some minor restroom bathing done, Hull found his way home.  He had only shut the door when a pounding at the door sent him whirling around.  Rather than hesitation he cast open the door and bounded out with a "hello".  One would worry about cops but Hull often countered opposition with boisterous and naive pleasantness.  Eyes finally focused on an old acquaintance met happily, but with the words "I'm not dealing anymore."

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