Return of the Titans

CHAPTER TWO [OLD]

I didn't know whether I should tell Doc that he looked like the Wiz.

Granted, his outfit was neat, and his choice of color, I only saw once on Word Paint, and it was accidental. I was trying to find a good shade for violet and instead mixed a little too much red with blue. Sometimes shelters had functioning computers; sometimes they didn't.

But what was the reason? The diner we went to for breakfast was a greasy (and oftentimes sticky) cesspool. I used my jacket as a seat because the booths hadn't been washed since Ronald Reagan was in office. There were wads of gum under the tables that were old enough to be my distant relative

So what was the hubbub?

As if reading my mind, Doc said, "We're not going to The Coffee Stop."

Truth be told, I was a little relieved that I wasn't going to see my gum brothers again. I still looked at him, but not out of perplexity because of his outfit, unlike before. "Where, then?"

"Do you know what day it is, Frankie?"

I didn't even know what time it was. There were no clocks or calendars in the crypt, because guests didn't bring them when visiting, and I couldn't lift what wasn't there. It also was incredibly hard to pocket someone's wristwatch when it was still attached to them. I was smart, but I wasn't made to live a life of crime.

I shook my head, defeated. "No idea, Doc."

Doc chuckled. I didn't know if it was because of my use of his nickname, or my lack of knowledge. But he wasn't that cruel; not from what I knew of him. "It's the anniversary since I spotted you hiding in the coffins."

He explained it so matter-of-factly that I felt embarrassed. There weren't many significant days that I made sure to remember. They usually just happened. If there was a holiday, like the Fourth of July or Veterans Day, I could tell by the surging increase of visitors. They mostly came from the nearby military base to commemorate their fallen loved ones. It was a time of honor, and not of searching for any knick-knacks I could pass the time inspecting.

So why would Doc remember that little inkling? Sure, it wasn't every day you stumbled upon a girl trying to hide with dead bodies, but weren't we over that? There were plenty of other encounters I had with the mortician. One included a jar of someone's brain and a runaway Chihuahua. That was way more memorable (no pun intended), so why did this trump that?

But I didn't complain. If Doc wanted to make anniversaries over fickle things, then that was him. I was still going to get that free food, and by the sound of it, it wasn't going to be swimming in muck.

"But that doesn't explain why you're dressed up. Where're we going? Piccadilly's?" Or better yet, a new business I had yet to hear of? Those always seemed to have a type of sophistication than company-run ones.

"Remember that construction site on the corner of Vulcan and Constellation?"

How could I forget? One reminded me of fiery death and the other of starry summer nights. Don't ask me why, or even how, they just did. "Yeah?"

"They built a center around there. There's a restaurant that just opened a few weeks back, and they say it's pretty good," he said.

We passed a team of men that wore a pair of reflective vests and hard hats. Doc greeted them with a tip of his head, and I raised my shoulders and lowered mine. They grunted recognition but continued walking. "What's that about?" Doc asked, pointing after the men with his cane.