Pg. 133-Whatever. I'm sure it's good. "C'mon Fluffy," I say. "Silver," he mutters. We walk up to a slightly run down building with a sign that says "Shwarma" over it. We walk inside and sit at a booth. The atmosphere feels like a strange mixture of relaxed and dangerous, sort of like "don't mess with me and I won't mess with you," which I can deal with. Silver looks edgy though.