"Is it done?" Zippy asks, quiet. His voice sounds hoarse. Empty. Unraveled. Not like the Zippy that greets students every Move In Day with hot dogs and ice cream and cat hair garnish.
"Yeah." The voice on the other side is quiet, too. Gruff, but warm. "It's done."
Zippy sits there for a moment, sparing a glance for the speech on his desk, and lets out a long, aching sigh. He pushes back from his seat, weaves his way through the boxes all over his floor, and leaves.
As the door slams shut behind him, a stack of boxes tumble to the floor, revealing a bright pink curtain that looks an awful lot like the entrance to the Zippy Dip’s photobooth. The curtain sways in a sudden breeze, and behind it you see Peckenpaugh’s auditorium.
MEMORY: After The Sealing
"Yeah." The voice on the other side is quiet, too. Gruff, but warm. "It's done."
Zippy sits there for a moment, sparing a glance for the speech on his desk, and lets out a long, aching sigh. He pushes back from his seat, weaves his way through the boxes all over his floor, and leaves.
As the door slams shut behind him, a stack of boxes tumble to the floor, revealing a bright pink curtain that looks an awful lot like the entrance to the Zippy Dip’s photobooth. The curtain sways in a sudden breeze, and behind it you see Peckenpaugh’s auditorium.