Chapter 4

The man was in his early twenties, smelled fairly bad and had greasy hair. But what really filled Paul with disgust was the way that he was drooling over Paul's breasts.

Paul wanted to just pummel the man's face in. Instead he just smiled and said, "Would you like fries with that?"

The man smiled. "Yeah. Say, what are you doing when you finish work? Perhaps I could take you out for a drink?"

Paul glared at him and the man visibly paled. "Or maybe not." He paid for his burger and fries and retreated to one of the bolted-down tables.

"I hate that the most about working here. When the lowlifes try to pick you up. Why do they try?" Mandy asked in an annoyed tone.

Paul looked over at Mandy at the other cash register. "Maybe they get turned on by the uniform."

Mandy flashed one of her broad smiles. She was one of the bright spots of Paul's day so far. Mandy was shorter than Paul, barely reaching five feet in height. She had a mop of brown hair in a pageboy cut and a slim athletic looking body. Her breasts were small, but seemed the perfect size to Paul. Anything bigger would have left her body looking unbalanced. She looked a little like an elf would, and the first time Paul had met her he had almost checked her for pointed ears.

Paul loathed the job itself. It was utterly menial and needed no mental effort whatsoever. All he had to do was listen to the moronic customers telling him what they wanted. Then he had to push the buttons on the till, each marked with pictures of the various pieces of food on offer. And then shout the order back to the kitchen. He had always looked down on the people who worked here as lazy idiots who couldn't be bothered to work for a good job like his.

It had quickly become apparent when he had started looking for work that he was qualified for only two jobs. Serving burgers was infinitely preferable to a night-club or strip joint. So here he was, in a dayglow yellow-and-green uniform, bored out of his skull.

He had been sleeping in Michael's apartment for over a week and had rarely left it. Michael had become insistent that he find a job and moved out. He said his stretched resources couldn't cover Paul as well. Paul had suggested asking Quince for a loan, but Michael had refused point blank to do anything like that.

With the meagre salary from the burger bar he would just be able to afford a dingy one room apartment. This isn't forever, he kept telling himself. Just until Michael could come up with a cure. To give him his due, Michael was working flat-out on the virus. Paul didn't really see why he had to move out. Surely the cure wouldn't take the several months Michael had said it would?