Good For Gone

Delilah

He smiled and then began crawling up the small ladder that stuck out of the cement wall.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, so you could see his shoulder blades dance under his skin every time he reached for the next bar.

From that angle, with his blotchy burn scar, matted hair, and the fact that he was climbing out of a sewer, he almost looked like a monster.

But the second he pulled himself out and got to his feet, he looked over at me and smiled, which is the least monstrous thing in the world.

He was shivering violently in the winter morning air, but just as I was going to say something the woman walked up to him and sandwiched his hands between hers, rubbing warmth into them.

"Thanks, Delilah." He said as she brought his hands up to her face and breathed onto them.

"Hey Bo, could you hand me my clothes?"

I went over to his pile and just grabbed everything, not knowing exactly which wadded up piece of cloth he wanted.

Delilah released his hands so he could begin pulling on his clothes. He took everything out of my hands and layered it on, leaving only the dice.

I didn't know why I grabbed them, but I clutched them in my hands. Good luck.

Delilah ran her hands up and down his arms quickly, and he smiled and said, "I'll see you later, okay?"

She smiled her crooked tooth smile and nodded, and Peter turned to me and nodded his head towards the street. I shoved the dice into my coat pocket and followed him.

"So what are we doing boss?" I could still hear the coldness in his chattering voice.

"Something indoors," I said, "How about coffee."

"Works for me."

We walked for a minute before I said, "So you live in a sewer."

"Only part time," he smiled, "I seem to be doomed to living in some serious rat traps."

"It's not too bad, the smell keeps people from bothering me."

"Yes blame it on the smell and not that creepy beard."

"I kind of like it."

"It reminds me of porn from the 70s."

"I don't really get either of those references, but they sound offensive." We got to the Java Lab and walked through the door, ignoring the sharp looks people were throwing our way, or his way to be more exact.

"Yeah, the 70s were terrible."

We hovered around the glass case that housed the pastries and sandwiches.

"Want anything?" I asked.

He just shrugged, so I ordered two coffees and two muffins.

The employees eyed Peter suspiciously but he didn't seem to mind. He was probably used to it by then.

We got our food and went to sit down in a wooden booth on the far wall.

"Thanks for the food." He said, shoving half of the muffin into his mouth.

"Don't mention it."

He'd stopped shivering, but I could already smell the thick sewer smell already.

"So you're over the whole no touching women thing I see."

"Yeah, as much as I preferred to let that be our special thing," he smirked and I rolled my eyes, "turns out most people don't find it nearly as charming as you did."