All right," Bobbie said. "New orders. Don't die until I say so. - James S. A. Corey

The bar was worse than shitty. Shitty had character. The place was generic. Fake stone meant to echo a tunnel on Ceres or Pallas marked with graffiti to make it look edgy until you noticed that the pattern of it repeated every couple meters. The appearance of counterculture as churned out by a corporate designer.

It’d be a better world if there was always at least one right answer instead of a basket of fucked.

Time healed all wounds, but it didn’t erase the scars so much as decorate them.