Adam
My body is a temple
But I don't believe in God
So knock it down and build me something new
But I don't believe in God
So knock it down and build me something new
Adam was not used to having friends.
Or at least, proper friends. He'd had plenty of drinking buddies, hook ups, rivals-that-he-didn't-entirely-hate, once even a wife; but he would be hard pressed to call any of them friends. Not in the way he was friends with Amalia, where he felt bad for the way he had last spoken to her. Bit back at her question like a cornered animal; the moment had passed but the guilt still lingered by his heart.
So he decided to try and make it up, the way he knew how. Stomping his feet at the sudden chill in the air (seasons in his world had been less harsh, more a gradual incline into a mild cold or weak heat) he clutched in his hand a small bag containing something very precious to him indeed. Hopefully, Amalia would get the significance.
Entering the bakery, he yelled into the building: "Hey! Ama! You got some time to hang out?"
