The time was spent waiting for the remainder of the group in a dingy little roadside cafe. One of those extremely clichéd ones, the type that everyone thinks when you mention. But clichés have to come from somewhere. Hoping that all of us might be able to fit into the van, I had taken the car, and parked it downtown, right near the building that proclaimed "Gary--The City By the Lake".

The vultures probably have picked it clean of everything by now. I met Plakke for the first time. Not especially the best circumstances, meeting with a body bag between. But sometimes things don't always work right. As for this, is seems to be going okay. Minor attention from the police at first, but the haggard look of Scott, and tired glances from the rest of us convinced them that there was nothing here they wanted. "You can go on about your business".

We all have been drinking coffee, and eating toast, not really saying much. Cliff is driving the van down from the truckstop, going to pick us up, after we disposed of the prior car.

I think I am the only there who is really concerned about the body’s swelling. Jhasen's joints are all beginning to swell to about three times their original size, and vaporous fog and temperatures are surely helping his decomposition. But I knew him least, so I guess I have been the quickest to adjust to his death. Before we left Florida though, I made sure Steve's death was complete. You can't trust newspapers.

Out of the window, I can see a van slowly pulling in, its lights moving across the wall of the diner like some sort of bizarre sentinel. They stop by the door, and sit, idling.

--Letters from a Savior; Offer for a few--


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