Nuklear Age by Brian Clevinger Read Free Book Online Page B

muttered something about, “Right away,” and disappeared into the lobby.
    “Jeez Angus, do you have to yell at her? She's just trying to do her job,” Atomik Lad said.
    “Ah don’t like her. The lass smiles too much!”
    Atomik Lad would have asked Nuklear Man to help in this endeavor to better Angus's public relations, but the Hero was too busy gorging himself to bother removing the lobster shells, much less participate in speech.
    Rachel approached the table with apprehension and a child’s seat. Angus snatched it from her and mumbled an apology while he tried, without success, not to look ridiculous as he climbed into it.
    The Hero had already finished his plate and was motioning that he wanted another. Rachel’s skill and waitress’s intuition recognized right away what Nuklear Man was signaling for despite his wild gesticulations most of which bordered on rude gestures not fit for public display. One could say that Nuklear Man wasn’t very good at that sort of thing and still be giving him an optimistic appraisal. She promptly went back into the kitchen.
    Atomik Lad and Angus finally began to partake of the feast. The Scotsman, though happy to be eating, wore an expression that made it evident he wanted someone, any one, to make just one remark about his child's seat so he could do something terribly violent and unreasonable about it.
    __________
     
    They ate for hours. Every time a plate neared exhaustion Nuklear Man would orchestrate a complex series of gestures that were supposed to mean to Rachel, “One more.” She was able to understand despite the complete absence of order, reason, or coherence in the Hero's obscene flailing. At times like these Atomik Lad always wondered how Nuklear Man could screw things up so perfectly. It’s kinda like Menace was saying. He gets things so wrong that they go full circle and work out to be right in the end.
    When they could devour no more, Atomik Lad excused himself to the restroom while the Golden Guardian and Surly Scot leaned back in stuffed afterglow, patting and/or scratching their bulging stomachs and making contented, “Ahhhhh,” noises every few seconds.
    Noticing that the frenzy was over, Rachel arrived at the table with a broad smile. She surveyed the battlefield. With skill and expert precision she was able to place the check where neither patron would feel obliged to pick it up, nor where it would reveal any opinion or prejudice of her own as to who she felt should pay for the meal, while simultaneously avoiding the sloppy splotches of varying sauces and juices that, due to the disgusting eating habits of those seated, covered the table like bugs on a windshield. She collected armfuls of plates to have them sandblasted clean out back.
    Atomik Lad exited the bathroom with a smile that made it plain to all that he was happy to be alive and most importantly, unhungry. He stood near the restaurant entrance, absorbing his own sunshiny mood when a comet of horror shattered his world.
    “Tuesday's Special: $15 Lobster!” He gasped in terror. He saw Rachel carrying at least eight plates while another nine remained on the battlefield of a table in a manner not at all unlike fallen and broken soldiers.
    He quickly made his way to the table and sat down next to Angus in such a forced satire of calm that one might have accused him of being a robot. He smiled widely and spoke through a teeth-clenching smile to disguise his worry, “The Special is fifteen bucks a pop.”
    Nuklear Man’s otherwise dull and inattentive attention jumped into action, “What talk you!” This was no time for grammar.
    Atomik Lad, in his empty smile, picked up the check and handed it to Nuklear Man who promptly fainted. Angus reached for the check, but the restraints of the child's seat held him firm. His face reddened in frustration, veins began to swell, and adrenaline began to course through his small body. “Grrrrr. Dwwwwwarf-a—” Atomik Lad snatched the check from the