Were I not in a benevolent mood, I might be irritated right about now. Slim has had a piece of good luck with one of his inventions and so we planned to have a small champagne gala this evening. Well, he finally did arrive with the champagne, but then realized he had left something in the car. When he walked back in, he had some random dude in Buddy Holly glasses and a deerstalker hat in tow. This, I ascertained, was someone he knew and had run into on the sidewalk. I gave him a cookie. We all toasted; I learned that the guy had been born in 1976 and was from Iowa and still had absolutely no idea who he was. It turned out he was on his way to DJ at a nearby bar's 1950s R&B night, so we all piled into the car to hear him do that. Or, rather, he and I did; we lost Slim on the way. I discovered him in Bonecrusher's apartment, wearing the latter's paratrooper cap. After much persuasion, Bonecrusher agreed to join us.
We hied to the bar, which was filled with hipsters. After a time, Bonecrusher apparently freaked out, so Matt took him home. When they'd been gone half an hour and I was growing weary of glaring at inauspicious fellows, I left. No sooner had I gotten back to the apartment, around 11.30, when there was a knock on the door; it was a shy-looking type who, I quickly ascertained, was the engineer Slim had brought down from MIT to work on one of his inventions. Since Slim doesn't have a phone, I gave the engineer a cookie and drew him a rather vague map back to the bar, and showed him the nude picture of Matt from the "Men of Snowblink" calender so he'd recognize him. He left.
Oh, I hear Matt now.
Now he's gone to find that engineer. It seems Bonecrusher had a crisis so they had to go to this very depressing bar on Meserole, leaving me alone. Fair enough, I guess. Goodnight.