Zuri retreated to his apartment and his half-carved turtle. A hobby, John had suggested. Sure. Why not? He took a seat and selected the tools, now foreign in his unpracticed hands. His cuts were clumsy. Rather than making him feel better, the work made him feel worse. When the chisel bit into his thumb, he swore and threw it all across the room.
"Fuck this."
Sucking the cut, he stomped over woodchips and out the door. His feet led him to the elevator, and finally to the empty club. John was in his usual place, sorting through a rack of spices and syrups.
"Welcome back! If you stick around tonight you can see Lua's performance."
Zuri snorted his opinion and took the glass John set in front of him. He wasn't really thirsty now; he'd downed the whole decanter earlier, but he sipped at it anyway.
John went back to his work, humming, while Zuri waited for him to strike up a conversation. It was just a matter of time. Any minute now