“-uy with no sense of direction, man. Get lost here, get lost there- to be frank, only way I can get anywhere without ending up on the wrong side of town is via transportation. You know, that’s me, golly. What’s your problem?”

“The worms are burrowing into my skin,” the junkie wails.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I’m again on a hoverbus, with my future looking significantly brighter than it did several days ago. I’m groomed, dressed, a couple of friends- well, acquaintances -made, and a possible ticket to salvation in my backpack in the form of a letter.

Martin’s directions are accurate enough- I can see the dilapidated LED sign ahead reading Churchill Valley: Kindness on Every Corner. The morning fog partly hides away decrepit buildings in the distance, and I watch intently for the nearest bus stop.

“Aw, gee, stranger!” The person sitting next to me exclaims, patting me on the back. He’s a middle-aged balding man in a sweater vest, grimy white shirt and tan shorts specked with dirt.
His greasy face is seemingly frozen in an unconvincing grin, white pencil-thin mustache bristling.

These hoverbuses seat three people in an aisle, and I’ve done enough to end up sandwiched between the creepy Charlie Chaplin lookalike and a rail-thin brunette girl who has done nothing but moan about the most minute of details in excruciatingly simple fashion. The slurred pattern of her voice suggests she’s on some type of drug, probably multiple ones. The two of them have made this ride a living hell- and when I deliver this package to Rebecca Yorke-Hardt or whomever, I’m not taking this way back.

Creep-Man leans forward to me, and I can smell the acidic stench of whiskey on his breath.

“Since me and the other gal here have told our stories, why don’t you tell us about yourself? Bus rides sure are boring without a good conversation, wouldn’t you agree?”

The girl has fallen asleep, long hair over her face making her look like a sort of emaciated banshee.

“I don’t have much of a story,” I deflect his inquiry by looking partly into my NeroCom and partly out the window, whistling in relief as the bus driver begins to pull to his stop.

Sweeping out of the row and grabbing my bags behind me, I utter a profanity or two before leaving the vehicle.

That creep, face plastered to the window, is still grinning at me as the bus pulls away. But again, the bus is gone, and I am left staring up at the Now Entering Churchill Valley… sign, with not much of anything to my name.

I need to find some kind of bar or social hangout some sort of throng of humanity or something. Someone has to know where Yorke lives- she’s blind, but I suppose someone has to know someone who is a caretaker.

That, or I spend the rest of the week going door-to-door looking for an old senile woman.

From the intersection I am standing at, I remember Fröde telling me that North leads to the residential area, West to the slums, East for the “downtown” section of the valley and Northwest for the industrial district.

I need something to break.

I need somewhere to go.

Hey there, Jon Tavares. You know, your name is quite soothing, I really like to say it. You knew that occasionally happens that two people have the same name? When I say your name I think about you, not the one that is no more. Maybe that's why I'm so fond of repeating it. You understand what I'm saying here? I wonder if this counts as mental masturbation. After all, what we are? But I digress, we have six days or less, right?

What time is it? North and west don't offer much. Door-to-door is a terrible idea and can raise some suspicion. We don't want that right now, maybe later. Now, northwest. Perhaps there's something for us if people are leaving work? We can ask for directions there. If it's already late in the day, we can try our luck in the east. This is zviera country, the “downtown” may be somewhat dangerous for us? Hah, you look at that. I'm just like parents at the first day of school of their children.

Let's leave all that behind. Besides me running my mouth, what the world can offer that's worse than your nightmares? The best move is to act as always, not giving a fuck. Ask about the library or some caretaker. Maybe we'll find another sassy bartender to brighten our day.

2012/06/26(Tue)19:19 No. 426530 ID: d79ace
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>Hey there, Jon Tavares. You know, your name is quite soothing, I really like to say it. You knew that occasionally happens that two people have the same name? When I say your name I think about you, not the one that is no more. Maybe that's why I'm so fond of repeating it.
>You understand what I'm saying here?

I’m doing my best to follow along.

>What time is it?
My NeroCom says 17:26, which coincides roughly with the deep, dark blue sneaking past heavy clouds. I’ve got no idea what work schedules are like around here, but the average 9-to-5 drowning workforce member is probably commuting home or milling around their area.

>Now, northwest. Perhaps there's something for us if people are leaving work? We can ask for directions there. If it's already late in the day, we can try our luck in the east.

>This is zviera country, the “downtown” may be somewhat dangerous for us?
I don’t consider myself the person to concern myself about that. Not anymore.

Northwest or east, give me a decision.

> I’m doing my best to follow along.
You are you and I am unnecessarily verbose. That's all.

> I don’t consider myself the person to concern myself about that. Not anymore.
Going grimdark again? Let's hit downtown. You need a good drink.