Back upstairs, I ordered two big breakfasts along with a newspaper and called to the Marshal that when the food got there to come in and eat. He smile... probably because the night guy had passed the word that I fed them. We ate with a minimum of conversation, only vaguely commenting on the day before. Afterwards, I cleaned up and finished my coffee while reading the newspaper. There was only a little blurb that an exercise had been held across the street from the federal building. Even the TV. The look on his face is confused and a little hurt, making me feel worse. “What’s wrong, Angel? I do something?” “No, nothing at all. It’s me,” I pull gently from his grasp and head out of the pub. I can feel him right behind me, trying to catch up. “Well, what’s going on then? You were fine just a few minutes ago, what’s changed?” “Nothing, I just have to get home, that’s all.” “What for, you got work in the morning or something?” “Or something,” I say, and fight the urge to cry. He. More

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