Chapter 7
When Hanson awoke the next day, he dragged his old clothes out from under the bed and put them on. To him, it was a symbolic act akin to defiance and rebellion, though really not quite either one. Still, it marked an end and perhaps a beginning as well. Seeing what he’d done, Graber mimicked him. Then they walked out to breakfast. Holzy was already in the kitchen, perched on a stool by the stove, with his hands wrapped around a mug of some steaming beverage. It was probably one of the herbal teas he favored, most of which smelled and tasted foul. A pot of porridge sat on the table.
When he saw the porridge, Graber pulled a face. “Oh s**t, not that slop again.”
Holzy just watched them. Hanson slapped two big ladles full onto a plate. Then he waved one hand over it and muttered
