The Manticoran Empire — 43878047
Original forum post: #43878047 by The Manticoran Empire, 2026-08-24 06:30 (forum time). The text below is the author's post, copied verbatim.
Ozark
21 August, 501
It was still dark when the harsh growl of Anthony Richards' alarm roused him from his slumber. His eyes searched the darkness, finding the faint bluish light of the phone screen on the nightstand. He reached out, grasping the phone with one hand to look at the time. Quarter after four in the morning.
He jerked suddenly, his mind fully awake as the time registered. 4:15 and he had to be at the warehouse, thirty minutes away, by five. He leapt from the bed, sprinting to his dresser and grabbing the first set of clothes he could find. He had learned early that fewer layers were better, so he grabbed a pair of loosely fitting sweatpants, a t-shirt, his work boots, and his reflective safety vest. He threw them on quickly before grabbing his phone and stepping out of his bedroom.
Thomas was already awake, making coffee in the small kitchen of the apartment. He looked up as Anthony burst through. “Hey, Tony,” he said, lifting a cup of steaming coffee. Anthony took it with a smile. “Thanks, Tom. Gotta run.” He rushed out the door as Tom waved.
At the end of the driveway sat his car, an older model sedan. It had a dent on the passenger side from when he’d sideswiped a bollard in a parking lot last year, something he’d never bothered to repair. There was also a small crack on the windshield, which he didn’t yet have the money to replace. And, he thought as he climbed in, my registration is also expired. He pushed the button to start the car and nothing happened. “FUCK!” he shouted, realizing he had left his keys in the house. He ran back, grabbing them from the hook by the door. As he started the car, he swore a vicious string of curses at his carelessness. That string carried him out of the driveway and onto the road.
The roads were mercifully empty this early in the morning, meaning that there was nobody to block his way. So, he floored it, hoping to save time. The Staties never bothered with patrolling this early, anyways, so he managed to make it to the warehouse with just over five minutes to spare. The lot was, as always, mostly empty. The overnight shift was a small crew, barely a third the size of the two dayshift crews and they usually took the spots closest to the entrance, meaning Anthony had to park a bit further away. He chose a spot about thirty yards from the front door, hopped out, and trotted over. He reached the timeclock and punched in just as his boss was walking over.
“Cutting it close there, Tony,” Allen said, a wry smile crossing his face. Anthony smiled back, “Damned dreams were too good,” he replied. “I hear that,” Allen chuckled, “I’ve got you down on fifteen for this hour. Most of that crew won’t do the extra time. You know how it is.” Anthony nodded and trotted off for his assigned spot. Allen was, in Anthony’s estimation, a good sort as far as warehouse supervisors went. He was understanding when folks needed time off and forgiving when folks were running late. And he was largely willing to joke around with people as long as everyone got their work done. And that was generally the way things worked. Warehouse work wasn’t particularly hard, just physically demanding. The line had to keep moving, so folks who couldn’t keep up didn’t last long. Anthony didn’t like the work but it paid better than fast food or retail and, without a college degree or a trade school certification, his choices were fairly limited.
Line fifteen was being used to repackage some generic hand soap in four-bottle display packages. At the head of the line, three people pulled boxes off pallets, popped them open, then placed the dozen bottles in each box on six angled sets of rollers, which sent them to a conveyor. There, three other folks took the items off the rollers and placed them in groups of four on the conveyor, which brought them to a shrinkwrapping machine and then a heater which melted the plastic wrap to secure the bottles together. At the end, two other guys would take the shrinkwrapped packages, box them up and send them down to where Anthony and another guy would then stack them on a pallet. When the pallet was full, they would shrinkwrap it and a forklift driver would come and take it away. Their quota, each hour, was about fifteen pallets.
That first hour seemed to crawl along, as Anthony tried to keep himself awake through the monotonous grind of constant, repetitive motion. The second hour saw the last of the night crew leave while the main bulk of the first shift crew filtered onto the line. The next four hours seemed to blur together, an endless stream of boxes, pallets, and plastic wrap. About three hours after he clocked in, the roll of plastic at the pallet-wrapping machine had to be replaced. That was, however, the only break in the monotony in the first five hours of his day.
Lunch was a spartan affair. In his rush to leave the house, he hadn’t been able to pack anything, so he bought a pair of pizza turnovers and a bottle of soda. The lunch room was quiet, filled with several hundred people, all of whom were exhausted and only wanted to eat rather than talk. Half an hour later, it was back to work.
The last five hours of the day were a repetition of the first. At two, the first shift crew was replaced by the early workers of second shift and the late workers of first. Anthony stuck around until three, capping off his normal ten-hour day by replacing the plastic on the pallet-wrapper again. As he clocked out, he ran into Allen again. “You did good,” Allen said, “15 managed to stay above quote the whole shift.” Anthony was too tired to do more than nod. Allen nodded back, “It was needed, too. Third shift missed their quota, again.” Anthony and Allen walked together outside, with Allen still talking. “Honestly, I don’t know what the hell’s going on at night,” he said, his exasperation bleeding through. “I had to sit through another meeting where management complained about missed quotas.” Anthony stopped walking, jerking Allen up short. “What’s up?” Allen asked. Anthony shrugged, “I just hate the fact that we have to make up for Third Shifts inability to keep up.” Allen nodded, “I hear you, man, but you know how hard it is to get people to work that shift. Management isn’t willing to sacrifice what productivity they do have to get rid of the folks who just won’t perform.” Anthony grunted. “Fucking typical. So night shift get’s to fucking cruise while we get shafted in the morning.” It was Allen’s turn to shrug. Anthony nodded again, “Well, it is what it is,” he said, “See you tomorrow morning, boss.” The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. Anthony paused at his car just long enough to send an envious look at Allen’s truck. Eventually, he thought to himself as he climbed into his own car, eventually.
He made the drive home at a much more sedate speed, deciding halfway there to stop at a small coffee shop to get a snack. Allison’s Bakery was a small spot, nestled between a retail store and a gym in a shopping center just off the highway. Anthony passed it every day but had never gone in. Today, he took a spot near the front door and left the engine running. He just wanted a snack, after all.
A small bell rang as he walked through the door and a young lady behind the counter greeted him with a warm smile. As he walked up, he read the name on her nametag. ‘Lizzie’. “Hi,” he said as he reached the counter. “What can I get you?” she asked. Her smile was beautiful, he thought. He managed his own, slightly awkward smile, as he made himself look at the menu on the wall behind her. “I think I’ll go with that applesauce cake.” She nodded and started to tap her screen. “You have a nice smile,” Anthony said. Lizzie smiled again, “Thanks. You want anything else?” Anthony shook his head, “No, just the cake.” As he tapped his card, Lizzie flashed another smile. “You’ve got nice eyes,” she said as she handed him the cake. Anthony could feel his cheeks start to warm. He didn’t remember it being this hard a couple years ago. “Thanks,” he said, “You, uh, you wanna get coffee sometime?” Lizzie shrugged. “Sure, I’m off in an hour. How about then?”
“Sure,” Anthony said, a broad smile creasing his face, “see you in an hour.” He walked outside and turned off his car. After all, he was gonna be here a while.
Lizzie came outside a few minutes after the hour, carrying two cups of coffee. “Here,” she said, handing him one, “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, but you look like someone who enjoys the simpler things.” He took the cup and sipped. Black coffee, with a hint of sugar. He smiled. “Good guess,” he said. He sat on the hood of his car and Lizzie sat beside him. They drank their coffee in silence for a moment before Anthony spoke again. “My name’s Anthony,” he said, the words falling out in a rush. Lizzie smiled. “Elizabeth,” she said, “but everyone calls me Lizzie.” He smiled back at her. It was easy, he noticed. Her smile, even when she had been behind the counter, was warm and genuine, as if she was someone who just liked being around people.
“What do you do?” The question caught Anthony off-guard. “Uh, nothing special. Grunt work at a warehouse, a few miles up the road,” he said, gesturing with the coffee cup in the direction of the warehouse. “That sounds exhausting,” she said, taking another sip of her coffee. They sipped in silence a bit longer before Anthony said, “It’s exhausting, but it pays. I get some decent overtime and I’m off before the evening rush.” He shrugged, “It gives me a bit of time to spend on my hobbies.”
Lizzie’s eyes lit up. “What sort of hobbies?” she asked. Anthony shrugged again, caught flatfooted by her enthusiasm. “Tabletop gaming, mostly,” he said, “My roommates and I have been running a game for the last three years. Tom managed to get his girlfriend to join and Dean brought his brother in last year. What about you?”
“Drawing,” she said, “Comic book stuff, mostly. I’m in school for it, too. If I can, I want to do it for a living.” She looked at him, her eyes dancing in that way only genuine passion enables. “If I can’t do what I love for a living, then what’s the point?” Anthony shrugged. “I’ve never really had a passion like that,” he said, “One that could be a job, I mean. The whole point of gaming is to just not be me for a bit, ya know?” He took another sip of coffee. “Every day,” he said, his eyes fixed on the highway but not really seeing it, “I get up at four in the morning, drive half an hour to a warehouse, and work like a dog for ten hours. Then, I drive half an hour back home so I can do it all again the next day.” He brought his gaze back to Lizzie. “But every Saturday, for a couple hours, I’m not me. I’m not grinding myself to the bone in a warehouse. I get to be an Orc paladin and save orphanages and battle demons and I don’t have to worry about bills or rent or whether or not I can afford car repairs.” He looked down at the cup in his hands and was silent for a moment.
“I do something similar,” Lizzie said. Anthony looked up at her. Her eyes were fixed on his. “My mom collects old books, most from Old Earth. She says they’re classics and they all have rather poetic names. Little Women, a Tale of Two Cities, the Life of Robinson Crusoe.” Her gaze shifted to a small family, walking into the retail store. “I find myself reading them and imagining what it must have been like,” she said, “living in those simpler times.” She smiled. “My favorite,” she said, “is what my mother tells me was one of the first science fiction novels. Twenty-thousand leagues under the Sea. It’s a thrilling book, about a secret submarine that traveled the oceans of Old Earth. She’s even shown me some of the ancient movies made based on the book.” She sighed, “I wish I could do that, live under the sea, away from the bustle of civilization. The way Jules Verne described it, just sounds peaceful.”
Anthony stood and extended his hand. “How about we go for a walk?” he asked, “You can tell me more about those books.” Lizzie smiled and took his hand. As they set off, she began to regale him with the tale of another story about an orphan boy named Oliver Twist. He answered her tale of Oliver Twist with a recounting of a recent session he and his friends had played, where they had needed to save a village from a hag and wound up disturbing a clan of goblins, who weren’t exactly thrilled about the interruption. The sky was turning orange as they returned to the coffee shop.
“This was fun,” Lizzie said. Anthony smiled, “It was. Should we do it again, sometime? Maybe Friday? We could do dinner.” Lizzie’s smile was truly infectious, Anthony decided, as she agreed. She gave him her number and Anthony’s own smile remained even as she got into her own car and drove away.
He barely noticed the drive back to his house, his mind replaying the impromptu date over and over in his mind. It had been so easy after they managed to get past the small talk. He felt a small pang of regret that he wouldn’t see her again until Friday.
His roommates' cars were all in the driveway when he got to the house, so he wasn’t surprised when the door was unlocked. Nor was he surprised to find the open pizza boxes strewn across the small dining room and kitchen. In the living room, Tom and Dean were camped on the couch, controllers in their hands. Dean saw him first. “Yo, what’s up, Tony? You’re back late.” Tom simply jerked his head upward in greeting, his eyes never leaving the television as his fingers flew across the controller.
“Sorry about that,” Anthony said as he hung up his keys, “got a bit sidetracked.”
“You?” Dean said, “Sidetracked?”
“Yeah,” he said as he stepped into the living room to see what they were playing, “I stopped to get a snack on my way home after work and wound up staying longer than I planned to.”
Thomas snorted, “What could keep you from coming home for close to five hours after the end of your shift?”
Anthony shrugged, walking over to the refrigerator and taking out a beer, “I, uh, kinda fumbled my way into a date.”
Thomas and Dean paused their game and looked at him. “Seriously?” Thomas asked. “Who is she?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Anthony replied, “she works at that little coffee shop off fifty-seven.”
“The one with that Alice in Wonderland thing going on?”
“Yep.”
Dean nodded. “Nice. Have a good time?”
Anthony shrugged again, “I think so. We’re getting together for dinner on Friday.”
Thomas laughed, “You are a man for the classics. Probably got her by asking her if she wanted coffee.”
“There’s nothing wrong with doing things the simple way,” Anthony said, “Besides, she picked the coffee. I just asked.”
He popped the cap off the beer and took a swig before sitting down on an armchair as Thomas and Dean resumed their game. None of them said much outside of trash talk before Anthony headed to bed an hour later. He tossed his clothes in the small hamper he kept by his bedroom door and climbed under the covers, making sure his alarm was set properly for the next morning. As the darkness of sleep closed in, Lizzie’s smile kept playing in his mind. It was, he decided, something he could get used to.
21 August, 501
It was still dark when the harsh growl of Anthony Richards' alarm roused him from his slumber. His eyes searched the darkness, finding the faint bluish light of the phone screen on the nightstand. He reached out, grasping the phone with one hand to look at the time. Quarter after four in the morning.
He jerked suddenly, his mind fully awake as the time registered. 4:15 and he had to be at the warehouse, thirty minutes away, by five. He leapt from the bed, sprinting to his dresser and grabbing the first set of clothes he could find. He had learned early that fewer layers were better, so he grabbed a pair of loosely fitting sweatpants, a t-shirt, his work boots, and his reflective safety vest. He threw them on quickly before grabbing his phone and stepping out of his bedroom.
Thomas was already awake, making coffee in the small kitchen of the apartment. He looked up as Anthony burst through. “Hey, Tony,” he said, lifting a cup of steaming coffee. Anthony took it with a smile. “Thanks, Tom. Gotta run.” He rushed out the door as Tom waved.
At the end of the driveway sat his car, an older model sedan. It had a dent on the passenger side from when he’d sideswiped a bollard in a parking lot last year, something he’d never bothered to repair. There was also a small crack on the windshield, which he didn’t yet have the money to replace. And, he thought as he climbed in, my registration is also expired. He pushed the button to start the car and nothing happened. “FUCK!” he shouted, realizing he had left his keys in the house. He ran back, grabbing them from the hook by the door. As he started the car, he swore a vicious string of curses at his carelessness. That string carried him out of the driveway and onto the road.
The roads were mercifully empty this early in the morning, meaning that there was nobody to block his way. So, he floored it, hoping to save time. The Staties never bothered with patrolling this early, anyways, so he managed to make it to the warehouse with just over five minutes to spare. The lot was, as always, mostly empty. The overnight shift was a small crew, barely a third the size of the two dayshift crews and they usually took the spots closest to the entrance, meaning Anthony had to park a bit further away. He chose a spot about thirty yards from the front door, hopped out, and trotted over. He reached the timeclock and punched in just as his boss was walking over.
“Cutting it close there, Tony,” Allen said, a wry smile crossing his face. Anthony smiled back, “Damned dreams were too good,” he replied. “I hear that,” Allen chuckled, “I’ve got you down on fifteen for this hour. Most of that crew won’t do the extra time. You know how it is.” Anthony nodded and trotted off for his assigned spot. Allen was, in Anthony’s estimation, a good sort as far as warehouse supervisors went. He was understanding when folks needed time off and forgiving when folks were running late. And he was largely willing to joke around with people as long as everyone got their work done. And that was generally the way things worked. Warehouse work wasn’t particularly hard, just physically demanding. The line had to keep moving, so folks who couldn’t keep up didn’t last long. Anthony didn’t like the work but it paid better than fast food or retail and, without a college degree or a trade school certification, his choices were fairly limited.
Line fifteen was being used to repackage some generic hand soap in four-bottle display packages. At the head of the line, three people pulled boxes off pallets, popped them open, then placed the dozen bottles in each box on six angled sets of rollers, which sent them to a conveyor. There, three other folks took the items off the rollers and placed them in groups of four on the conveyor, which brought them to a shrinkwrapping machine and then a heater which melted the plastic wrap to secure the bottles together. At the end, two other guys would take the shrinkwrapped packages, box them up and send them down to where Anthony and another guy would then stack them on a pallet. When the pallet was full, they would shrinkwrap it and a forklift driver would come and take it away. Their quota, each hour, was about fifteen pallets.
That first hour seemed to crawl along, as Anthony tried to keep himself awake through the monotonous grind of constant, repetitive motion. The second hour saw the last of the night crew leave while the main bulk of the first shift crew filtered onto the line. The next four hours seemed to blur together, an endless stream of boxes, pallets, and plastic wrap. About three hours after he clocked in, the roll of plastic at the pallet-wrapping machine had to be replaced. That was, however, the only break in the monotony in the first five hours of his day.
Lunch was a spartan affair. In his rush to leave the house, he hadn’t been able to pack anything, so he bought a pair of pizza turnovers and a bottle of soda. The lunch room was quiet, filled with several hundred people, all of whom were exhausted and only wanted to eat rather than talk. Half an hour later, it was back to work.
The last five hours of the day were a repetition of the first. At two, the first shift crew was replaced by the early workers of second shift and the late workers of first. Anthony stuck around until three, capping off his normal ten-hour day by replacing the plastic on the pallet-wrapper again. As he clocked out, he ran into Allen again. “You did good,” Allen said, “15 managed to stay above quote the whole shift.” Anthony was too tired to do more than nod. Allen nodded back, “It was needed, too. Third shift missed their quota, again.” Anthony and Allen walked together outside, with Allen still talking. “Honestly, I don’t know what the hell’s going on at night,” he said, his exasperation bleeding through. “I had to sit through another meeting where management complained about missed quotas.” Anthony stopped walking, jerking Allen up short. “What’s up?” Allen asked. Anthony shrugged, “I just hate the fact that we have to make up for Third Shifts inability to keep up.” Allen nodded, “I hear you, man, but you know how hard it is to get people to work that shift. Management isn’t willing to sacrifice what productivity they do have to get rid of the folks who just won’t perform.” Anthony grunted. “Fucking typical. So night shift get’s to fucking cruise while we get shafted in the morning.” It was Allen’s turn to shrug. Anthony nodded again, “Well, it is what it is,” he said, “See you tomorrow morning, boss.” The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. Anthony paused at his car just long enough to send an envious look at Allen’s truck. Eventually, he thought to himself as he climbed into his own car, eventually.
He made the drive home at a much more sedate speed, deciding halfway there to stop at a small coffee shop to get a snack. Allison’s Bakery was a small spot, nestled between a retail store and a gym in a shopping center just off the highway. Anthony passed it every day but had never gone in. Today, he took a spot near the front door and left the engine running. He just wanted a snack, after all.
A small bell rang as he walked through the door and a young lady behind the counter greeted him with a warm smile. As he walked up, he read the name on her nametag. ‘Lizzie’. “Hi,” he said as he reached the counter. “What can I get you?” she asked. Her smile was beautiful, he thought. He managed his own, slightly awkward smile, as he made himself look at the menu on the wall behind her. “I think I’ll go with that applesauce cake.” She nodded and started to tap her screen. “You have a nice smile,” Anthony said. Lizzie smiled again, “Thanks. You want anything else?” Anthony shook his head, “No, just the cake.” As he tapped his card, Lizzie flashed another smile. “You’ve got nice eyes,” she said as she handed him the cake. Anthony could feel his cheeks start to warm. He didn’t remember it being this hard a couple years ago. “Thanks,” he said, “You, uh, you wanna get coffee sometime?” Lizzie shrugged. “Sure, I’m off in an hour. How about then?”
“Sure,” Anthony said, a broad smile creasing his face, “see you in an hour.” He walked outside and turned off his car. After all, he was gonna be here a while.
Lizzie came outside a few minutes after the hour, carrying two cups of coffee. “Here,” she said, handing him one, “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, but you look like someone who enjoys the simpler things.” He took the cup and sipped. Black coffee, with a hint of sugar. He smiled. “Good guess,” he said. He sat on the hood of his car and Lizzie sat beside him. They drank their coffee in silence for a moment before Anthony spoke again. “My name’s Anthony,” he said, the words falling out in a rush. Lizzie smiled. “Elizabeth,” she said, “but everyone calls me Lizzie.” He smiled back at her. It was easy, he noticed. Her smile, even when she had been behind the counter, was warm and genuine, as if she was someone who just liked being around people.
“What do you do?” The question caught Anthony off-guard. “Uh, nothing special. Grunt work at a warehouse, a few miles up the road,” he said, gesturing with the coffee cup in the direction of the warehouse. “That sounds exhausting,” she said, taking another sip of her coffee. They sipped in silence a bit longer before Anthony said, “It’s exhausting, but it pays. I get some decent overtime and I’m off before the evening rush.” He shrugged, “It gives me a bit of time to spend on my hobbies.”
Lizzie’s eyes lit up. “What sort of hobbies?” she asked. Anthony shrugged again, caught flatfooted by her enthusiasm. “Tabletop gaming, mostly,” he said, “My roommates and I have been running a game for the last three years. Tom managed to get his girlfriend to join and Dean brought his brother in last year. What about you?”
“Drawing,” she said, “Comic book stuff, mostly. I’m in school for it, too. If I can, I want to do it for a living.” She looked at him, her eyes dancing in that way only genuine passion enables. “If I can’t do what I love for a living, then what’s the point?” Anthony shrugged. “I’ve never really had a passion like that,” he said, “One that could be a job, I mean. The whole point of gaming is to just not be me for a bit, ya know?” He took another sip of coffee. “Every day,” he said, his eyes fixed on the highway but not really seeing it, “I get up at four in the morning, drive half an hour to a warehouse, and work like a dog for ten hours. Then, I drive half an hour back home so I can do it all again the next day.” He brought his gaze back to Lizzie. “But every Saturday, for a couple hours, I’m not me. I’m not grinding myself to the bone in a warehouse. I get to be an Orc paladin and save orphanages and battle demons and I don’t have to worry about bills or rent or whether or not I can afford car repairs.” He looked down at the cup in his hands and was silent for a moment.
“I do something similar,” Lizzie said. Anthony looked up at her. Her eyes were fixed on his. “My mom collects old books, most from Old Earth. She says they’re classics and they all have rather poetic names. Little Women, a Tale of Two Cities, the Life of Robinson Crusoe.” Her gaze shifted to a small family, walking into the retail store. “I find myself reading them and imagining what it must have been like,” she said, “living in those simpler times.” She smiled. “My favorite,” she said, “is what my mother tells me was one of the first science fiction novels. Twenty-thousand leagues under the Sea. It’s a thrilling book, about a secret submarine that traveled the oceans of Old Earth. She’s even shown me some of the ancient movies made based on the book.” She sighed, “I wish I could do that, live under the sea, away from the bustle of civilization. The way Jules Verne described it, just sounds peaceful.”
Anthony stood and extended his hand. “How about we go for a walk?” he asked, “You can tell me more about those books.” Lizzie smiled and took his hand. As they set off, she began to regale him with the tale of another story about an orphan boy named Oliver Twist. He answered her tale of Oliver Twist with a recounting of a recent session he and his friends had played, where they had needed to save a village from a hag and wound up disturbing a clan of goblins, who weren’t exactly thrilled about the interruption. The sky was turning orange as they returned to the coffee shop.
“This was fun,” Lizzie said. Anthony smiled, “It was. Should we do it again, sometime? Maybe Friday? We could do dinner.” Lizzie’s smile was truly infectious, Anthony decided, as she agreed. She gave him her number and Anthony’s own smile remained even as she got into her own car and drove away.
He barely noticed the drive back to his house, his mind replaying the impromptu date over and over in his mind. It had been so easy after they managed to get past the small talk. He felt a small pang of regret that he wouldn’t see her again until Friday.
His roommates' cars were all in the driveway when he got to the house, so he wasn’t surprised when the door was unlocked. Nor was he surprised to find the open pizza boxes strewn across the small dining room and kitchen. In the living room, Tom and Dean were camped on the couch, controllers in their hands. Dean saw him first. “Yo, what’s up, Tony? You’re back late.” Tom simply jerked his head upward in greeting, his eyes never leaving the television as his fingers flew across the controller.
“Sorry about that,” Anthony said as he hung up his keys, “got a bit sidetracked.”
“You?” Dean said, “Sidetracked?”
“Yeah,” he said as he stepped into the living room to see what they were playing, “I stopped to get a snack on my way home after work and wound up staying longer than I planned to.”
Thomas snorted, “What could keep you from coming home for close to five hours after the end of your shift?”
Anthony shrugged, walking over to the refrigerator and taking out a beer, “I, uh, kinda fumbled my way into a date.”
Thomas and Dean paused their game and looked at him. “Seriously?” Thomas asked. “Who is she?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Anthony replied, “she works at that little coffee shop off fifty-seven.”
“The one with that Alice in Wonderland thing going on?”
“Yep.”
Dean nodded. “Nice. Have a good time?”
Anthony shrugged again, “I think so. We’re getting together for dinner on Friday.”
Thomas laughed, “You are a man for the classics. Probably got her by asking her if she wanted coffee.”
“There’s nothing wrong with doing things the simple way,” Anthony said, “Besides, she picked the coffee. I just asked.”
He popped the cap off the beer and took a swig before sitting down on an armchair as Thomas and Dean resumed their game. None of them said much outside of trash talk before Anthony headed to bed an hour later. He tossed his clothes in the small hamper he kept by his bedroom door and climbed under the covers, making sure his alarm was set properly for the next morning. As the darkness of sleep closed in, Lizzie’s smile kept playing in his mind. It was, he decided, something he could get used to.