The Wasteland

One of the things that will never get old for Salah is the view of the sky without all the light pollution. He's spent most of his life in cities with heavy smog. Stars should always be celebrated! They are so shiny!

He has his head tipped back, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and may be a silly grin on his face as he stands in the middle of the abandoned street.

"I have no idea what that one is, but I like it."

Beth is idly watching traffic from her seat near the Wasteland, swinging her legs. There's a lot of people. Beth is people watching!

She may or may not be wearing short shorts. Ok, she is. She really, really is.

Claire! In the bar!

For those with good noses, she smells vaguely of perfume (not hers), zombies (maybe a pet? probably not) and blood (is it hers if she's imbibed it?).

Also, she's trying to think up slogans for a grassroots Anna for sheriff campaign.

All she's come up with so far is, "Stop being idiots. Vote for Anna."

Preston's - not fretting, exactly. Thinking, mostly, and scratching his newly-shaved chin absently as he sits in front of the Wasteland and watches people go by.

In the next day or so, he should go to Claire and tell her what he's decided. He wants to talk to a few more people first, though, if he can.

Beth! Walking through an exchange, looking for someone. She's a little self conscious, aware suddenly that wolves can probably smell her. How had she not known that! Damn Mike and his TMI.

Tossing her hair out of her face, she squares her shoulders and strides in, short shorts and a zip up hoodie. Hell, if the other girls can do this, so can she.

Claire enters the Wasteland in two efficient steps, striding up to the bar and placing an order for two drinks, one for her, one for Les who's trailing behind her.

Leaving him to carry them, she finds a table with a good view.

[oowl: The story of 8 whores and a madam.]

Something just about everybody tries to find time to do is go to the exchanges every so often. See what's been found, and who's willing to trade for what.

Rebecca has a battered bag slung over her shoulder, and is poking through a box of highly miscellaneous objects.

Judging by her expression, she's not finding much of use.