[ The little abortive gesture reminds Eliot so vividly of the blurry aftermath of losing Mike, of spilling out his pain to the golem and having it mean nothing. It reminds him of the splintered break between them. It's mending, but it's mending slowly.

Every kind of intimacy used to come easily to them. Eliot sighs, tips his drink to the set of fighters staggering out of the cage. It's an easier place to deposit his attention than to look at Margo and read the conflicting urges in her face. Was he suppose to tip her one way or the other? Eliot isn't sure he cares to be sharing everything rattling around in his head, even with her. ]

I'm not wasting my time on mind-numbing minimum wage. We aren't that desperate.

[ So criminals it is. ]

Maybe we can try to find a sugar daddy. [ This only half a joke. ] Someone who'll love us in spite of our unfortunate haircuts.