For a while he wore his hair short, a concession to the pestery itch of an idea that he owed himself or the universe something to acknowledge a demarcation between Near Farr now and Near Farr then. It never felt right; he would catch peripheral glimpses of himself in mirrors and think it was a stranger watching him. So he let it grow back out, and if anyone is watching him after all, should they be tasked with proving that he went on a pilgrimage to the Reaches and came back Changed, they won't find much evidence. Because what is there, really? A new phone; a new address. And three million dollars, give or take, languishing barely touched in a savings account, despite the shovel-faced lawyer's strong recommendation that he invest it invest it invest it.
He tried to set things right. Sort of. He got Isa a new dog, bought it off Facebook when he went to gather some things from the apartment or maybe he just wanted to see a familiar face even if it was one that hated him. This was after he settled the matter of the rental car, which he can hardly remember doing (days, weeks, months he can hardly remember, in and out like sleepwalking) but the proof that he managed to settle it is in the official record: Courtland Farr, III was driving alone and swerved to avoid hitting a deer, the physics were unfortunate but these things happen, it's why we have insurance.
Isa screamed about Lew then named the new mutt with its blue eyes Old Dread in all the weird certitude that made him charming, and it was funny, funny, and for a few minutes Near thought he could make this work. Maybe. Or not that he could, but that he would like to, to hit rewind and settle back into a mess he knew how to navigate. And, still thinking this, he told Isa that he would come back when he was finished with The Reaches -- which he was selling, there was nothing there for him -- that they would talk it all out then. But he never did. It shouldn't have surprised anyone: he had been drifting into and out of lives, cities, his whole life. Next stop, Seattle. Now here he is at dead o'clock on a Tuesday, Northgate mall where the murders happened, sprawled on a bench by the broken fountain and sucking at what was an iced coffee but has become mostly the double-pump dregs of generically sweetish syrup. Bad speakers turn the piped-in pop music into a vague smear of thumpy bass. He is, if anyone asks, waiting for Guthrie's shift to end.
Guthrie works at the Nordstrom Rack. Every piece of this sentence is chronically hilarious. It's a full-time thing, although Near's experience of the mall has led him to believe that maybe a dozen people total still shop here, and he can't understand how a job selling off-price department store clothing to a dozen people can keep a person busy for eight hours a day. They met there, which is also hilarious, met at the mall like they're teenagers in 1994 when in fact they are both grown men, one of whom needed a new pair of pants. He got pants and a phone number. Sure, people have to meet somewhere, but it feels vastly more respectable to have met at, say, The Door, the little bar where Near works not because he needs the money but because he needs to work, to occupy his time with shots and small talk.
They're going out to dinner when the store closes, somewhere cheap and easy. Near is technically very early, but only because the real reason he comes here the first Tuesday of every month (well, most months) is in case Jude decides to make an appearance, even though he's positive that Jude is dead, and that even if Jude isn't dead then he sure as fuck doesn't know how Near has, for at least a year, been extending covert invitations to meet at Northgate Station on the first Tuesday of the month.
He tried to set things right. Sort of. He got Isa a new dog, bought it off Facebook when he went to gather some things from the apartment or maybe he just wanted to see a familiar face even if it was one that hated him. This was after he settled the matter of the rental car, which he can hardly remember doing (days, weeks, months he can hardly remember, in and out like sleepwalking) but the proof that he managed to settle it is in the official record: Courtland Farr, III was driving alone and swerved to avoid hitting a deer, the physics were unfortunate but these things happen, it's why we have insurance.
Isa screamed about Lew then named the new mutt with its blue eyes Old Dread in all the weird certitude that made him charming, and it was funny, funny, and for a few minutes Near thought he could make this work. Maybe. Or not that he could, but that he would like to, to hit rewind and settle back into a mess he knew how to navigate. And, still thinking this, he told Isa that he would come back when he was finished with The Reaches -- which he was selling, there was nothing there for him -- that they would talk it all out then. But he never did. It shouldn't have surprised anyone: he had been drifting into and out of lives, cities, his whole life. Next stop, Seattle. Now here he is at dead o'clock on a Tuesday, Northgate mall where the murders happened, sprawled on a bench by the broken fountain and sucking at what was an iced coffee but has become mostly the double-pump dregs of generically sweetish syrup. Bad speakers turn the piped-in pop music into a vague smear of thumpy bass. He is, if anyone asks, waiting for Guthrie's shift to end.
Guthrie works at the Nordstrom Rack. Every piece of this sentence is chronically hilarious. It's a full-time thing, although Near's experience of the mall has led him to believe that maybe a dozen people total still shop here, and he can't understand how a job selling off-price department store clothing to a dozen people can keep a person busy for eight hours a day. They met there, which is also hilarious, met at the mall like they're teenagers in 1994 when in fact they are both grown men, one of whom needed a new pair of pants. He got pants and a phone number. Sure, people have to meet somewhere, but it feels vastly more respectable to have met at, say, The Door, the little bar where Near works not because he needs the money but because he needs to work, to occupy his time with shots and small talk.
They're going out to dinner when the store closes, somewhere cheap and easy. Near is technically very early, but only because the real reason he comes here the first Tuesday of every month (well, most months) is in case Jude decides to make an appearance, even though he's positive that Jude is dead, and that even if Jude isn't dead then he sure as fuck doesn't know how Near has, for at least a year, been extending covert invitations to meet at Northgate Station on the first Tuesday of the month.