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"Hey, it's no problem," I assured him. "I get nauseous flying that high and that fast, anyway. Well, we'd best get this show on the road, huh?" What would you like for your attire?" Francesca asked.I looked down. I was in the plain tan robe that they usually dressed me in when I arrived."How about a pair of jeans?" I asked."Jeans?" Wizen said. "What are jeans?"He turned to Francesca."Do you know anything about jeans?" he asked her.Her blush was exceptionally becoming. Evidently "jeans" were in fashion only among the younger set. She waved her arm and my robe was gone, replaced with a nice, tight pair of Levis."And on top?" she asked, gesturing at my naked chest."I think we'll just leave it like this," I said. I was as proud of my pecs as I was of my arms. Rambo had nothing on me. Other than functional legs of course.I brought the flychair over and climbed in. Together we proceeded down the corridors. I could tell that something had changed immediately. We passed another boy, this one. I sat down opposite her and looked at my watch. Half past three: in four hours I was going to have to be on my way to the bakery.'Alright, bonita, time to tell me.' She put the mug down and opened her mouth to speak, but it turned into a big whooping sob and she launched herself across the room and onto my lap. I put my arms round her and patted her back gently. Pat pat, pat pat. She rocked and sobbed and my tee-shirt grew damper and damper. I wondered why I'd spent virtually the whole night getting wet. Because you're a sucker for it. At last she looked up, her face puffy and her nose pouring snot and tears.'Back into the bathroom, sweetheart, ' I said gently, 'cold-water rinse and blow your nose.' I turned her round and swatted her gently on the behind. She trudged off and I followed her. I found a comb in a drawer, and put a clean tee-shirt on. After a couple of minutes she came back and sat down again. She took another mouthful of milk and brandy, grimaced and swallowed, then.
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