Exiting? Michael hadn’t abandoned his birthright for exciting. He’d run away for the exact opposite. Relaxation. No pressure. No responsibilities that he didn’t know how to fulfill. No father who couldn’t find the time to show his face or offer a few words of encouragement. Frowning, he shrugged his shoulders, said, “If you’re looking for another show, I’m afraid you’re going to have to look elsewhere. I’m on vacation.”
Falling a little behind, Michael eyed the back of his new companion’s head and wondered what it would look like in pieces. He couldn’t help himself. It was like a tic. Imagining appalling things came naturally to him, like it was ingrained in his DNA. The images were painted inside of his eyelids, engraved in his brain. He shook his head like a wet dog to get rid of this one, blinked it away and fell gracelessly into the corner booth, opposite of Jim.
He grabbed the menu, tore it open and studied the words fervently. “Most people aren’t so kind.” That was a statement. Not an opinion. Most people were trash. Michael gave him a look, a quick glance up at his face. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.
For a moment, he only stared at the outstretched hand. How nice. He reached out, shook and pulled back. “Nice to meet you.” He slammed the menu shut. He knew what he wanted. “I’m Michael Langdon.” And without missing a beat, “are you this nice to everybody, or am I special?”