“Lobster mac, huh?” Hank tapped his chin thoughtfully, even though ceasing his insults had his stomach cramping up again. “Sounds kind of good — I mean, weird. Fuckin’ weird-good, man.”

Yeah, that felt better. But how long was he going to have to keep talking shit till he knew peace? Forever? He could deal with that, but he’d at least like to know that this robo curse had no permanent cure.

“I could go for some coffee. Although” — Hank kind of side-eyed the guy — “why lobsters remind you of coffee, I got no idea.”