February 28

“Fair enough,” he says. “You’re not the first person to say I have a face only a mother could love.”
“You didn’t answer–”
“All things in time,” he says. “Funny phrase, that. Of course, I bet you know all about that.”
“Not particularly,” I say. “Look, do you have a point being here or are you just stalking me for the hell of it?”
“Little from column A, little from column B,” he says. “I did want to ask you a question, though.”
“Make it fast,” I reply. I’m next in line, and this lady in front of me sounds like she knows what she wants.
“You saw something on me yesterday at your place,” he says. “I didn’t pick up on that until late at night, and I didn’t want to disturb your rest.”
“Point, please?”
“How much time do you think I have?” he asks. I turn to face him, and the blood runs cold in my veins. He’s not being a smartass. The tone of his voice, coupled with the look of sheer terror on his face, leads me to believe that he’s as scared of the Steamer as I am. I glance at his coat, but it’s closed.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say. “But hold that thought. Go… go find a table or something.” I turn to order my drink.

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