Adrian saunters into Our Price, a haze of hairspray and patchouli. His hair is an angular topology that barely exists in our world. He is dressed in some indecipherable layers of black and purple with sprayed-on jeans and something on his feet that is just pointed.
He air-kisses around Bae, “hullo Mothwing, what’s new in the Dark Republic?”
”Epson this is Adrian. He’s…”
”I know Adrian,” you tell her, “he’s in Anxiety class with me.”
”9am tomorrow,” Adrian reminds you.
”Yeah, that’s just the problem,” you tell him, “I lost my semester timetable.”
”Heavy bummer,” says Adrian.
”Adrian,” says Bae, “it’s been an experience of unusual profundity, but we need to do some fax machine magic to fix Epson’s timetable.”
”Xerox?” says Adrian.
“IBM actually,” you reply, and with that you head out to the Hexagon bus centre. (goto 47)