Reggie and I had arranged to meet at a little coffeehouse left over from the hippie days, a dive called The Glass Onion. It was located in a rundown o...d building that looked like it should have been demolished years before, but inside it was fairly clean. The proprietors went by the names of Stone and Skye Parker, and they looked like they had been time-warped straight from about 1968. They both had long, straight hair, leather headbands, and beaded and fringed vests. The walls were covered. She hoped Matt would take it well. To him, this was just a way of life. It was all either of them had ever known. She could hear water dripping somewhere down one of the nearby branches of tunneling. The smell of decomposition was stronger in some of these. The architects of this building had meant well when they put their burrows down here to make all behind-the-scenes machinations invisible to their patrons, but as working conditions declined, so did the use of the tunnels. Now, they were. More

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