whitetwoguns | But I ain't no madman.

Eh, whatever. It wasn't anything huge. Spent most of it reading up on the Network.

Yeah? Took me a bit to get used to it.

[Flop goes the plate into the microwave. The buttons sound in the robotic tones as they do.]

Weird folks around here.

This place is kind of like a truck stop in the middle of fucking nowhere. You start talking to people just because they're there.

[Beeeeeeeeep. And it's done, the lasagna is as good as in his mouth.]

Mmmmhmmm.

[Chew chew, hot but good.]

That's the long and short of it over all. Anything good?

[Chewing more.]

Where'd you get Italian?

[He shrugs again]

People saying shit about how they're actually dead. Crap like that.

[He glances over]

Oh, I made that this morning.

Oh yeah, that. I haven't seen it myself, I heard things too.

[Larry blinks. He takes a good look at the plate, like he's eating an alien dish.]

No shit? I didn't know Julia Childs was sleeping in my shower.

[And a casual middle finger]

No shit. Why the fuck would I lie about it?

I dunno.

[He's gotta make sure it's chewed enough to swallow before speaking again.]

How come you ain't a chef someplace? It's good.

Because being a chef means working for shit pay in a crowded hot room while ingrates fucking scream at you for the ravioli already.

Being a crook has more integrity than being a chef.

[Now even that one doesn't add up too, too much in his head. So unfortunately, he'll have to ask for the likely long winded explanation.

Oh well, he's got no where to be. Larry approaches, holding his plate up closer to his chin so that the lasagna doesn't have far to travel.]

How do you figure?

The way I figure it, when you're a chef, you're the world's fucking lapdog. I mean, you're doing like, the most basic task fucking imaginable. You're serving food to idiots, mostly idiots who can't even fucking appreciate it.

And then the front of house makes all the extra cash? No fucking way. When you're a crook, you earn every penny you make, and you get to fucking keep it.

All I'm saying is - I never felt like someone was shitting on me when I was a crook.

[Puff]

[Except for this last time. Fuck, Larry doesn't wanna talk about it, no fucking way. He cleans his plate while Pink finishes up.]

Careful pulling shit around, it's trickier than you think.

[And lets leave it at that. Larry pulls away to dump his dishes in the sink. ...when the hell did they get so many dirty dishes?]

There's opportunity for easy livin' otherwise.

Yeah? Like what?

Where do you work, anyway?

[Gathering information]

[This question was bound to be asked.]

I made good by being some muscle, helping keep shit in order in the underground.

[That's an acceptable answer. Specific but not. Just the way it goes, okay? Post meal cigarette time.]

[Huh. Fair enough. He's got that muscle look to him]

Enough for a new place?

[He doesn't hesitate, nor does he flinch. This what you would call a poker face.]

I pull my weight. I don't see why not. You seen this.

[First deep inhale of his cigarette and then an exhale.]

Orange ratted you out. Kid has thinner skin than a fucking old lady.

[He puts out his cigarette in an ashtray]

Why you lookin' at old ladies?

[No shit he was ratted out. He got a clue the minute Pink brought it up.]

Because if I looked at preteens, Brown would have fucking shat himself at finding a like-minded individual.

[Unamused face. Stick to the point, asshole]

You're close.

You both did get along pretty well. Fucking small world.

[He licks his teeth before taking another drag from his cigarette. What a great thing to come home to. And no fucking heads up? What the hell is this shit?

Larry taps off his ash as he blows the smoke upward.]

To getting a place? Yeah, I guess.

[No pause, because Pink's brain processes. He decides to wait off on that conversation for another day. Probably with Orange. The kid cracks easy]

Well, whatever. You guys want to set up like the fucking odd couple, that's your thing.

You mean, Orange and me?

[Ah, that'd make sense about the close. Aw, shit.]

It's smart to stick together. Hell, didn't see you coming. Who knows. What if we get the cops.

[He looks down, not staring at anything particular as he says, rather softly...]

Joe.

If Joe shows up here, what'll he fucking have?

[He shrugs again]

This place has cops of its own, doesn't it? But shit, this is better than a fresh fucking start in a new city.

Nothin' but a grudge worth carrying out I suppose.

[God, this subject, this whole damn thing. He could have just gone some place else rather than home. Too fucking late. And leaving now would be a dead give away. He's no coward, no turning tail. It's his own damn fault isn't it, in more ways than one. No body asked him to bring up Joe. It was a card to play.]

The cops here don't know shit about criminals unless they do a big heist or some shit to get everyone's attention.

[Chesterfield ash falls.]

Easier than a fresh fucking start in a new city. At least for me.

[snort]

Sounds like the perfect kind of place to make shit happen.

But I ain't no madman.

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