Samuel decides to look for either his friends or something equally interesting - a task that will surely be simplicity itself. He stalks through the streets, making sure to avoid the worms and the insects that plot against him and the rivers of blood and gasoline, and eventually does believe he's found what he's looking for! Two confused-looking people standing in the middle of the street, looking at the vibrating concrete jungle all around them. Clearly, they require a guide.
* * * * *
The idea of going to school appeals to
Willy, mostly because he's never been to one and doesn't know any better.
"Hey Pete! Let's go! I've never been to a real school before!"
"Hm... it may be an attempt to misdirect us, but we trust you, portly man! We hope our trust has not been misplaced!""Nah, I've got a good feeling about yer chances to find something like what yer looking for!"And so the two weirdos head back down the factory stairs, leaving the fat man alone, and, paying absolutely no mind to the complete absence of their loyal cultists, head out to find Mills High - sadly, though, they have no idea where it might be.
"I suspect we are both altogether too unfamiliar with this city to find what we are looking for, child! Let us drop to our knees in prayer for our Lord to show us the way!" Hungry Pete suddenly says, then drops to his knees, closes his eyes and seems to mutter something to himself.
* * * * *
Larry and
Halesey, in order to find out the exact number of dirty god-mags in this store, participate in as quick a count of the ones that litter the floor right now. It takes the better part of two hours, but eventually the three men manage to settle on a total count of 3 357 mags. Not as good as some might hope, but a very decent number all in all.
"Well, that's definitely not ten thousand mags, but it's not too bad anyway. I think I'll agree on seventy-five cents per mag - a lot of the stuff here seemed to be of the more conventional kind."