The closest couch to the dining room on the meteor had officially become Dave’s “spot” for the night. His stomach was cramping and put him in far too much pain to even get to his own bed. Rose had been conjuring up ingredients to make food for Thanksgiving tomorrow, giving Dave the idea to whip up some old favourites. All he could assume was that he didn’t he didn’t cook the roast well enough, especially since Rose had warned him that she didn’t think it was done. He ignored her; it looked and tasted just like what he used to have at home.
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