Ch. 2

The small of Sam’s back hurt as he twisted this way and that to accommodate the lumbar nightmare that was The Big Sippers chairs. The newest and highest quality of the coffee shops on campus, the design was at once meant to evoke a homely, cozy cabin in the woods and a mod, swanky roastery that belonged in the heart of Seattle. A wall of glass interlaced with maple scaffolding made up the left wall, its bright and seamless texture punctuated against the slate grey sky and sharp white sheets of sleet that battered it. The lights hung down, their radiant warmth surrounded by isometric, brass circles arranged in a gyroscopic pattern. In unison the carefully arranged symmetrical rows of lights gave the soft, concave ceiling a planetary feel, each light resembling a tiny armillary sphere; fitting given which department bankrolled the places construction. The viewing wall was situated carefully to give students there in the morning a view of a vista of forested gullies and enchanting woods that housed many a hidden student tryst or fraternity hell week. Those there at night were greeted by, when the world allowed it, a constant view of Polaris as well as handy tables and charts for stargazing. It was a testament not only to the school’s considerable uptick in funding in recent years but their pride in maintaining the nature around them where most schools would have wasted no time in bulldozing the rich landscape, almost begging to be developed.

“Fucking hell. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.” Paul grumbled. The pity in his bespectacled eyes belied his hulking frame. To the uninitiated spectator, Paul Moser appeared like he belonged more to the woods that surrounded the northern half of campus than he did in any classroom on it. His height, worn bear paw hands, and unkempt lumberjack mustache and beard conjured images of chopping wood outside of a log cabin, a hobby Sam knew Paul was all too familiar with. The duo spent the next couple of minutes making small talk about winter break plans as their third accomplice arrived, pulling up a chair.

“Those sunglasses make you look like such a cunt, Max.” Sam said tersely, gesturing with his chin towards the dunes of alabaster that coated the outdoors. Paul nodded, seconding the sentiment. He wasn’t entirely sure where the Philadelphan native got his fashion sense, especially with the considerable resources at Max's disposal, but he found it to be… disappointing. The sunglasses were just another indicator of a barely-there attempt at running from a cushy past. A hoodie doesn’t make someone look homeless if it’s still custom-fitted and slapped with a Givenchy logo.

“Well fuck you too. I’m sorry the snow glare hurts my eyes,” Max replied in a nasal timbre, “Anyway, I heard what happened. Sucks dude. I’m here for you if you need anything.”