"You know what the worst part is?" asked Lula, as she stood and walked to the other end of the bench.
"The waiting?" Ruso mugged as if for a rimshot. The snail chugged steadfastly onward, now making its way toward Ruso.
"Sort of, actually," said Lula. "It's just... I thought there'd be brimstone rains and screaming mobs. Instead, we have traffic jams, plastic-sealed air vents, and you can't sit still outside."
"At least it's not mosquito season. We'll get used to it."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Lula sighed, raising her foot as another snail futilely lifted its razor-toothed maw.
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