Bubkus's crimson eighteen wheeler barreled down an empty highway, cutting through the heart of Idaho. The travel was awkward, but was by no means boring.

Bubkus himself talked on the C.B. almost constantly, communicating with other truckers about traffic and weather reports. Atticus found it strange that his demeanor changed so drastically over the radio, changing from slow and drawn out to quick, punctuated burst of speech. Like most of his thoughts, he kept it to himself.

When He wasn't talking on the radio, Bubkus was singing to it in broken English and slurred words over a random assortment of all the most popular country and southern rock hits of Idaho. Topher found the troll of a man oddly charming, but Atticus was mortified.

This went on for days, with short spits of tale swapping and calling Atticus a sour puss. It was easy traveling, save for the cold beans that served as rations to the pair. Before they knew it, they had reached Nevada, and cut right through the desert highways.

Ten miles from the border, Bubkus and Atticus bunked down and Topher started and new book called The Drawing of the Dark. Bubkus, being a creature of few hours of sleep, started the journey again before the sun that morning. Topher, being a one-track reader, barely noticed.

******************************************************************

Atticus awoke with a start. He rubbed his eyes, and blinked. He then blinked again. He was alone.

More importantly, the truck wasn't moving. Bright sunshine blared through the windows, blinding him from the outside. His curiosity peaked and with no alternative, he opened the driver side door into a strange new world.

The street was narrow and crowded with a multitude of diverse people, all heading in various directions. The buildings were older and cramped, with an uneven line of rooftops of older stucco buildings and slightly less older oriental-styled buildings. The narrow streets were dominated by Bubkus's flashy truck, despite the fact that it had been liberated from it's copious load. The city was a sensory attack on the senses, with colorful sights, curious sounds, and the smells wafting in from a million little food stands.

Atticus didn't really know what to think. He just walked around the truck a few times, until he noticed something. The truck seemed to be parked for easy access to one building in particular. A charming old building stuck out from it's neighbors. A large stained glass windows depicting two males faces and the words THE JANUS ARMS, with a similar sign hanging above the doorway. Without any other lead or anything better to do, he stepped into the pub.

He was greeted by several observations, all of which were new to him. The pub was about halfway full, with the booths on the left with several inhabitants, the closest being a strawberry blond head partially hidden by an open newspaper and wisps of smoke. The pool table seemed to be in half use, with a broken set and no players. The most horrifying actions, though, were the happenings at the bar.

Bubkus and Topher were sitting at the bar, laughing heartily with several plates of food. Behind them stood the angriest looking Animalid Atticus had ever seen. The buxom lass was leaning against the bar barring her teeth, making a low growling sound that was felt rather than heard. Despite her scariness, the pair didn't seem to notice.

Atticus turned to leave, but then the worst thing imaginable happened.

"Hey, Atty! Where ya been, you big strong man you!" came a cheery voice from behind, followed by a few chuckles from the closer booths.

Atticus turned around to see Topher walking towards him with outstretched arms. Bubkus remained at the bar, once again nose deep in nachos. Topher had a sly smile.

"C'mon, Atticus. I'm tryin' to get our thirty bucks back. Bubkus over there dropped off his toilets and got a fat check. I've been milkin' it out, but he can't stay much longer. At leas' get a sammich."

Atticus groaned. He wanted to punch his "friend" in his fat gut. But he learned long ago to never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when that horse is made of food. Despite his anger, he got a sandwich and a brew courtesy to good Bubkus.

As it turned out, Bubkus did not have to leave soon. Atticus spent the majority of the time reading scraps of newspaper scrounged from the smoking blond, who through a very tiny amount of small talk had revealed himself to be Pete. After about two hours and several games of billiards with strangers, Bubkis left, leaving Atticus and Topher at Janus Arms with just their old wicker suitcase, a beat up old viola case holding Atticus's beloved Gorbazio, and not a scratch of money to their name.

With nothing better to do at the time, the pair deposited their bags in the corner and went back once more into the breach. Atticus went back to Pete's booth, the only source of quiet in the place. Upon his arrival, he was greeted by the sweetest welcome one could expect.

"I suppose your here for the pleasant conversation? Or are you and your... friend... trying to bugger everyone at the pub at the same time?" croaked Pete from in between drags.

"By no such means. I'm simply attempting to find a bit of quiet," replied Atticus flintily. "Any conversation is welcome," he paused, taking in a long breath from between his teeth, "but neither of the parties concerned seem to enjoy such pleasantries."

Pete smiled at the snarkiness. "Well, then, let the good times roll." He chuckled and returned to his paper.

Atticus resumed his reading of the paper scraps and engaged mutual quiet with Pete that was punctuated by short burst of peaceful and snarky conversation.

Topher, who had been talking jokingly with the other patrons, eventually persuaded some of the kinder ones to buy rounds. Spurred on by jokes, booze, and charm, many games of pool were played by all sorts of strangers. Even Atticus and Pete, who had skulked in the corner all throughout the merriment were convinced to participate in a round or two.

Said merriment was short-lived. Eventually the sun went down and the patrons went home. Night dwindled into closing time, and Topher and Atticus left right after they helped put the bar stools up.

With no purpose or place to go, the pair walked into the nearly abandoned nighttime street. The blocks came and went, until Atticus decided that a particular alley was safe. They plopped down near a street lamp, neither one really tired.

"Atticus?" Topher inquired.

"Yeah," half-yawned Atticus.

"I like it here," he said, followed by a pause. "I found out what city we're in."

"Me, too." There was another pause. "I've heard good things."

"So have I," replied Topher. There was an an longer pause. "Curiah.... kinda rolls of the tounge, don' it?"

Atticus snorted. Yeah, he thought quietly to himself. It kinda did.