<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">There was the sound of rustling bedding and a long groan. "C'min..."<br/>
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Roger was bleary eyes with waking and half tangled in the blankets. He pushed the pillow from his face and looked at George for a long moment while his eyes adjusted. "Oh, man," he said, a little more lively sounding, "that shit smells good."<br/>
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He sat and moved over to make some space for George to sit on the bed. "Don't be shy, man, bring that shit over. I'm kind of starving. I think I was dreaming about food. Taco Bell. You ever miss little shit like that?" He posed the question either to be answered or not. He imagined everyone missed things live drive through fast food along with all the other little things that everyone took for granted. Usually he got on fine with 'survival', but sometimes he just wanted the things he ceased to have since going away to prison. He never got them after getting out either because the outbreak and panic were in full swing.<br/>
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"I'd probably give my left nut for a Chalupa," he thought about that for a second. "Ok, maybe not."<br/>
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When George joined him, he set himself up for dinner in bed, offering up a biscuit even though he knew George would decline it. He'd already eaten, but still the gesture was made.<br/>
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"You were gone awhile, I think..." He made a quick check out the window to confirm the sun was well on its way to setting. "Yeah. You were gone awhile. You all talk about a bunch of shit? They worried about me? They didn't give, like, the death glare when you told them I wasn't coming?"<br/>
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He was mildly interested in what effect his absence had brought considering it was such a big day for the group. "Is that what you want to talk to me about?"</span>