Whistling, Billy carried his paper plate of sandwich and chips in one hand, bottle of water in the other. Sure, he could have eaten in the kitchen, but the kitchen was boring. There was a sofa and a television and a remote for said television. It seemed like a triple win to Billy. Turning sharply into the room, Billy paused midstep, his appetite suddenly subsiding as he gazed upon the slightly crooked, bandaged nose. He tried to avert his eyes, but that only made Billy see the gangrene-type bruises.
"Anyone get the number of that bus?" Billy asked softly, realizing as soon as he was done what a horrible joke it was. Strangers - knew students, he corrected himself - just seemed to be popping up all over the place. You think someone in charge would send out a memo or something. "Uh, hey. I'm Billy. Hungry? Thirsty?" Maybe if he gave his food to the guy who was playing with a deck of cards, the gods would be appeased and the newbie wouldn't try to be a hardass like Jean-Paul had been.