Over the past ten years, Rory had dicovered that most antisocial acts in the shoppette barely were never reported. As long as they reimbursed their cost of labor for booze and snacks, they could more or less act any way they wanted. Rory took a handful of Cheetos and put them in his mouth. They were far too salty, but he didn't react to this. "Thanks babe," he said, his voice muffled between starch and salt.
Friendly as he was, Rory didn't particularly want to drink with Carmine, especially if he was going to do it alone. "Why don't you come shooting with me and Beau?" he offered, "Only place in the Hologym you can drink." Smoking seemed like an easier prospect.