She had to laugh. Next time, I'll make sure you're in the john first. Blearily, she gazed around the room, at the trodes tossed in the corner. Hot afternoon sunlight cut across the dusty floor, seeming to paint it with lambent stripes of gold. She was reminded of the Chicago stim, the Mid-Axe's observation deck flooded with the same light.
Dust motes dancing to the tune of Brownian motion.
Damn, I oughta flatline more often, she thought idly. Makes me real poetic. She could feel Madrid's arm around her shoulders. The clownface was distorted now, sweated away in places. She knew that if she could see her own face, she'd be able to find the missing makeup.