She’d been hovering near the door to the back room a few minutes ago. She may have just taken a break...but— Her train of thought was broken and an abbreviated gasp slipped out as the toy kicked it up a notch, throwing a harder, stuttering pulse into the pattern of arrhythmic beats. Only, they weren’t quite as arrhythmic as before, the added pulses somehow fitting into the pattern. A quick glance around the store gave no more clues, so she shrugged and went with it, returning her eyes to the shop’s entrance. She was supposed to be on duty as the greeter after all, funneling customers to either the game, or whatever they were looking for. She couldn’t go haring off, trying to sort out who was toying with her. She’d almost grown complacent, a few minutes later, when the pattern changed again. Sharp staccato bursts of the vibe’s highest setting added into the previous pattern of beats. It was no longer arrhythmic now, and the smooth interplay of three different pulse-strengths had her. A painfully young one named Stephanie pulled herself away from her disappointment at being on the wrong side of the cash register long enough to listlessly take my order for a patty of ground herbivore with various accessories and Jenny’s order for a salad and diet pop/soda (of, sigh, course).Unfortunately, as I had writen, the dining area was completely crowded which left the pair of us without a seat. We stood together next to the place where one gets one’s straws, napkins, and little packets of catsup. Jenny scanned the restaurant (if you could call a fast food joint a restaurant which I can’t see what else to call it since, as established in a prior, unrelated story, I owned no thesauri).Someone shouted over the general din of not sober teen spirit, “Ms. Smith” which is (as I now realize that I may have neglected to inform you, dear reader) the surname of my darling Jenny. Flailing my head around, I suddenly failed to see anything other than teenagers in various poses of.
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