Guilded Age

There’s a bit of a wrinkle here that I don’t know if we intended at the time. Byron probably misjudges Pardo when the latter starts talking about his “livelihood.” It’s true he’s more concerned about his money than anything right now, but that’s partly because he doesn’t grasp how much of a threat Cultists currently are to people he knows. He probably thinks his biggest worry is rowdy adventurers causing property damage as they bust Cultist heads. Remember that when we see him next.

Where were we with that story? Oh, yes.

I was out of the house at 3 PM. I suppose it would’ve been ideal-ish to leave around 9 AM, try to get to Plattsburgh that night, drop the books off 9 AM the next day and return home. But I had errands to run before this journey and the gathering of cartoonists to meet on the way back. I also had no money budgeted for hotels. So sleeping was going to be an issue.

I’d figured on finding a truck stop on the highway, but when your body tells you it’s had enough and you’re driving, you better listen. I ended up stopping around midnight by an abandoned farmer’s market, which I presumed wouldn’t mind as long as I was on my way by daylight. I pulled out the blankets I’d packed, covered my head with a winter jacket, and committed my resources to achieving unconsciousness.

You’re really gonna sack out here?

I glanced at the silhouette in the back. “Yes, Cardboard Box Man, I am.”

It’s gonna get cold.

“Hence the blankets.”

There’s a nonzero chance we’ll get carjacked by an enterprising vagrant.

I responded with fake-snoring. It turned into real snoring soon enough.