Rue: Breakfast

My egg had dribbling of yellow, milky snot leaking from its center. I poked at it absently, feeling my stomach cower in disgust. Hoff was happily stabbing his crusty hunk of toast into the phlegmy eye of his own egg. He munched away cheerily, looking at me from across the table.

“What is it Morgan? The Broken Killings are over. It’ll only be a matter of time before The Revolver Saint’s brought to justice. Pieprzak’s giving you a vacation, even.”

I wiped off my fork with my napkin and started shoveling in my hash browns. They were greasy but good and hot still. That made a huge difference. I waited until I was done with my mouthful before answering Hoff.