There was a possibility that laptops made good Frisbees. Not a concrete theory, but it had a growing plausibility. Tucker poked the M key again, in hopes the resident gremlins had decided to surrender. Nothing.
He pushed the obviously cursed thing away from him and turned his attention to his coffee. Or what was left of his coffee.
He swirled the cup once then decided it was safer to get a refill than chance the murky depths. Thankfully the cybercafe was mostly empty, so the line was short and less surly than it had been during the morning rush.
He waved the cup at the cashier with a grunt and she run him up a refill with a silent grin. $3.71. It was always $3.71. He handed over the last of his unbroken twenties and waited impatiently as the other worker prepared his refill.
She was gratingly perky compared to Marissa’s companionable silence and he favored her with his best grumpy look. She remained unfazed.
Refill in hand Tucker retreated to his table, giving the newcomer a thoughtful look and wondering once again if laptops were meant to fly.