Drowning sorrows in Sbarros [open, Sbarro]
"Aren't you gonna eat your bread sticks?" inquired Gary.
"Not hungry," answered Roy. He lifted one of his elbows off of the Formica table from where it perched. "Aw, dammit! I got sauce on this shirt. This was the only one in Arkham that fit me. Everything was sized for that little creep." He attempted to wipe the red sauce off his elbow with a paper napkin. "Which begs the question, where did you find a size lardass in there?"
"Oh, dude, there's a whole wardrobe in the west wing. Musta been personal effects for all the crazies that were locked up in there. They had every size and color and style you could imagine." Gary took another healthy bite of pepperoni pizza. "I swear, it was like the dressing room for a high school drama department," he said amid a muffled mouthful.
"Is that why you're dressed like Uncle Pennybags?"
"Totally." Gary modeled his fancy suit. "This belonged to some guy named Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. Can you believe that name? It's like his parents were trying to raise a supervillain."
"Or the douchiest kid in school." Smiling now, Roy took a bite of bread stick.
"What do you think Jack's story was? I never found out."
"Who knows? Maybe his mind got fried by a joybuzzer or something. He seemed pretty b-list."
"I don't know. I think he was pretty intense. We coulda had a good thing there."
"Maybe. What do we do now that he's gone?" Roy put down his bread stick.
"I dunno. I guess we'll have to work for a living again."