Minus the pot smoke and a cheerful old lady voice asking if anyone wanted cookies. There were no overhead lights, only worktable lamps; walls and walls of cabinets were hung over counters and counters of beakers and tubes and science gadgetry Ben felt no need to know the names of. It smelled of chemicals and damp and someone was playing grunge metal on a tinny radio. It could have been midnight or noon or any hour in between; it was always dark and things always moved slow. The Land that Time and Deodorant Forgot. “I was gonna call you,” Jason said, wiping Egg McMuffin grease down the front of his shirt and rolling his stool over to the opposite counter. “As soon as I double checked the result.” “Nah, that’s okay,” Ben said, “I never miss a chance to come to the lab.” Jason was sorting through papers and glanced back over his shoulder.
