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Help MeIt has only been a month since Chell was released from Aperture, and for some inexplicable reason she often finds herself missing it. She has a normal life now, or what passes for one, with friends and a job and her own apartment. It’s a small apartment, with just one bedroom, and her only company at night is her Companion Cube. She likes to talk to it, even though it doesn’t talk back, and the thought never crosses her mind that someone might be listening.
But of course someone is. Someone who always has been, and someone who always will be.
“And I also don’t think that guy had any right to treat Sandra that way,” Chell says, continuing to hand-wash her dinner dishes as she does so. “But of course he’s a customer, so he’s always right and all that shit, and we really couldn’t do anything about it.” She sighs as she finishes up, then turns to look at the cube, which is sitting on the sofa. Giving it a smile, she come
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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