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I found myself staring at the dark brown coffee ring made by the mug I was craddling. The heat from the vessel soothed my bandaged hands. The sounds of traffic coming from the open window reminded me of the convoy. They had to be in Colles by now. Angela scrapped the pan clean of my breakfast. She turned from the stove with a chipped plate full of dry eggs and rancid ham. I would have turned up my nose if I wasn't so hungry.

"Why are you staring like that, Marz?"
"Like what?" The ring was drying.
"Like that! You won't look up at anything. What? Are you and that table the only things that exist?"
"Can I have my food, please? Rot is terrible cold."

Angela dropped the plate in front of me and another piece of it broke off. "This is why we don't have nice things," I said flatly. I wipped my fork off on my jeans and cleaned it with spit.

"No, you're bullheadedness is why we don't have nice things. It's why we don't have money. It's why we're here instead of with the convoy."

The mug crashed to the floor, showering the scratched wood with shards of red clay.

"Get out."