Next over from the tellers, the picked goods were swapped, bartered, or shelved for later. Canned or packaged food went straight to the Mess, but for the dawn-yawners like me, there was Café Remains, a stack of pass-through shelves from the kitchen where the menu was whatever could be spared: small packs, individual servings, fruit or veggies best eaten raw, half-stale baked goods, and of course, mess hall leftovers, when there were any.

Another long line there, with the noise and heat still punched to max, and me like to jump out of my skin with keeping cool. Tight around me, denfolk milled and postured, trading puffed-up tales of the raid, thronging toward the Mess for that extra ration, rigged out in flashy down-time wear: rags and flood debris repurposed as den finery, feathers and sparkle-beads, small found objects tinkling on every seam. Fashion pandemonium.

I got my food at last—six rice cakes, one wrinkled apple, and a cooked bird leg cost me three chits. At least filling my water bottle was free. I turned and ran into a wall.

“Hey, I like eatin’ in bed, too. Wanna join me?”

A wall of muscle. It was the panties dude from the walkway.

We were pressed so close, I had to look up at him. “Excuse me?”

“You. Me. We could get away from it all.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“No problemo. I’m Ace.”

Sure you are.

Easy enough to lean up, whisper how I had the clap, did he mind? Send him off soon enough. But he was big, looming over me with a beery grin, and there was no place to run. My tongue went numb. The chatter around me morphed into an echoing rush of water. Waves? Then someone jostled, shoving me sideways so I had to dance and twist to hold on to my food, and the surge of bodies carried him away from me . . . it was over.

I weaseled my way into the stair hall and slumped against a wall, dry-mouthed and gasping. I wasn’t worried about pursuit. He’d find someone else to hit on. But one more for the list next time I saw the shrink. I knew the conditions that set me off and tried to avoid them. So unfair that the terror revisited, but not the root memory.

Next, to the media loft for a weather check before bed. We all did it. Look strange if I didn’t. I pushed off the wall and trudged up the stairs.