It had been a week since the road trip to New Bern that had left Jericho's party with one less member and one less strategy for turning the lights back on.

Jake Green was in a decidedly morose mood as he sat on his bar stool, staring down at the surface of the bar with a look of grim concentration. Despite the numerous threats facing his town, the risk of impending starvation, freezing to death, marauding scavengers and the bizarre recurring dream he had once in a while that a band of ravenous townspeople were trying to boil him amidst carrots and celery, he had only three thoughts pounding relentlessly on his mind. Crossword puzzles. Flannel Pajamas. The occasional light beer. Crossword puzzles, flannel pajamas, the occasional light beer.

Something so small, mundane. But it was who she was, she had said. Something so superficial. But it was something that could keep them apart. For much as he'd felt his heart flutter at the sound of her voice as she'd uttered those words, he'd had to face the fact, as he'd pondered them again and again, that he'd never liked crossword puzzles, never owned a pair of flannel pajamas, at least a pair without attached feet and cartoon characters on them, and he'd never even occasionally enjoyed light beer.

So it was that he sat dejectedly at the bar, thinking about the unattainable girl, no, woman, who'd gone to New Bern in thirty minutes and a league of her own in a few seconds, out of his own territory forever. The universe wasn't fair, really. He didn't like crosswords but he liked her smile. He'd never wanted a pair of flannel pajamas but he wanted to get to know her better. He hadn't missed light beer since the end of consumer culture and brand name alcohol deliveries but he'd missed her the past seven days. Why couldn't he have been someone who liked, wanted and missed all those things? It would have been simpler then.

"Jake, you okay there?" asked Mary, eying him with concern. She'd poured him three drinks already this evening. He could see the bartender in her evaluating if it was time to slow down, but he knew she was his friend too as she smiled sympathetically.

"I'm fine," he sighed, sipping the last of his turpentine and putting down his glass. She nodded like she understood, and he suddenly wanted to make her really understand.

"What do you think about crossword puzzles, Mary?"

"Crossword puzzles?" she asked, raising her eyebrows with a vaguely amused look on her face. He nodded. "Not really my thing," she answered after a moment, with an apologetic grimace. "They're so random and obscure half the time and if you get one wrong, fifteen other answers are screwed up. It's like they're designed to mess with your mind."

"I hear ya," nodded Jake, looking down at his empty glass.

"What are you guys talking about?" asked Eric, coming up behind Mary and grinning goofily as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Crossword puzzles," muttered Jake, his mind on a deserted road outside New Bern city limits.

"I sure miss those!" said Eric, leaning his chin against Mary's shoulder with an exaggerated mournful expression. "I loved them."

"Yeah?" asked Jake, raising his eyebrows at his brother, and then glancing pointedly from him to Mary.

Eric caught the glance and chuckled. "And she hates them."

"I'm not sure I'd say hate," smiled Mary.

"She always let me do hers, from her paper," said Eric.

"I'd take the world news section and the horoscopes," she nodded. They both smiled fondly at the memory.

"But how did you enjoy the paper together then?" asked Jake.

"Sometimes we'd play a game where he reads me the 'help me' letters and I answer them," said Mary. "Or I'd read them to him and he'd play Dear Abby."

"Her advice was always the funniest," Eric added. "Especially what she said to Lonely Lizard Lover in Boise." They both chuckled as they caught each other's eye, and something about the look that passed between them made Jake sure he didn't want a recap.

"So it didn't bother you? Having to share the paper with a crosswords lover? Or her...not exactly hating something you like so much?" he asked.

They shook their heads. "As long as he didn't use a pen that bled through the paper. Horoscopes were usually on the other side," said Mary.

"It gave me something to do while I kept her company and she worked on the tavern books," added Eric. "And I got to be doing something fun."

"Whatever works for you," said Mary with a smirk. She looked as though she were going to say something else teasing but instead, she smiled as a song came on the jukebox. "I love this song!"

"I know. That's why I picked it," said Eric.

"That's why, or is it because you love it?" asked Mary, gently poking him with an accusing look.

"That too," he shrugged, dropping his hands to her waist.

Jake smirked, then looked away and was glad that in a few seconds they had hurriedly excused themselves and gone out to laugh and sway and put their hands on each other on the dance floor instead of two feet in front of him.

He sat in silence for a few moments, considering the conversation he'd just witnessed. He wished he'd taken the chance to ask for another drink. He wondered briefly whether he should boldly go behind the bar and get one himself, but decided against such rash and illogical actions, instead standing up and wandering across the room.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but it certainly wasn't for the sight of Stanley and Mimi, squeezed into the corner of a big booth, kissing like teenagers in a parked car. Once again smirking and then looking away, he had almost made it out of their range when he heard Stanley's voice calling to him.

"Jake, buddy! Didn't know you were here tonight! Come on, sit down!"

Jake glanced with puzzlement as he sat down opposite Stanley. Most of the town seemed to know that Jake Green had spent every night since Black Jack at the bar. But judging by the way Stanley was grinning at Mimi now, he hadn't been paying attention to much else the past few days.

"So, what's on your mind, Jake Green?" asked Mimi, ever the blunt one. She peered across the table at him with a piercing gaze. "You look like you're trying to sort out the origin of the universe or something."

Stanley shot Mimi a warning look, that was probably intended to signal 'No one ever pushes Jake Green when it comes to deep thinking' but Jake didn't feel like keeping up pretenses of happiness tonight, while happy couples danced and kissed and had a grand old time in front of him.

"What do you guys think about flannel pajamas?" he asked.

Their reactions were quick and simultaneous. Mimi wrinkled her nose and shuddered. Stanley gave an affable grin. They glanced at each other and Stanley gave Mimi a small nod. She opened her mouth to explain first.

"Aside from the obvious lacking in the fashion department, everything about them reminds me of work and chores and the fact I'm living on a farm in a place where all there is around for miles and miles is corn." Mimi finished with a deadpan look of seriousness. Stanley hid a smile.

"And you, Stan?" asked Jake, glancing at his friend.

"I like 'em," he declared.

Jake and Mimi both raised their eyebrows.

"What's not to like?" he continued. "They're comfortable. They feel nice to wear. It's like getting a warm hug!"

Mimi shook her head with a giggle, playfully mussing Stanley's hair.

Jake cleared his throat. "So, you," he nodded at Mimi, "See them as a symbol of the oppression of farm life, and you," he nodded at Stanley, "See a warm hug. So what do you do at bedtime? About the pajamas, I mean," he added with an eye roll as he caught the mischievous look they were exchanging.

"Well," said Mimi in an obvious tone. "It's not something like losing your farm, or losing your home and everything and everyone you ever knew. So it's really either put up or shut up."

Stanley nodded. "She puts up, I shut up." Mimi smirked, and he squeezed her hand in his.

She smiled at him. "Besides, it's kind of nice, getting a warm hug every now and then."

"And there are other ways to keep warm too," Stanley said with a wolfish grin.

"'Specially if you're creative," nodded Mimi.

Jake couldn't stop a small groan from escaping his lips, but he wasn't sure either of them noticed. Their eyes were locked again, and though they weren't saying anything, the conversation they seemed to be having with their eyes was enough to make him look away again.

"I think I'm just going to - yeah," said Jake, standing up. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, and barely noticed the lovers' distracted goodbyes as he stood up.

He wandered back towards the bar, not certain where he was going, still unable to banish the crossword puzzles, flannel pajamas, and light beer. Another drink. That was it. He scanned the room for the bartender.

He caught sight of her on the dance floor, Eric's hands entangled in her hair and hers in his scarf. They were still dancing, in a way that would've been frowned upon at Kellerman's. He spun around and caught sight of Stanley and Mimi again, keeping warm in their booth. Sighing, he decided to step outside for some fresh air. Hanging around in a room with so many pheromones floating through the atmosphere was having a strange effect on his mind.

Once outside, he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the crisp early winter air enter his lungs. The night was black, no stars, a perfect endless canvas to ease his troubled mind. It was so much better to think when you didn't have annoyingly public displays of affection being thrown at you from all angles. He walked along in silence, enjoying the way he could hear his own thoughts again. A sound of voices made him pause. The sound was coming from around the side of Gracie's Market.

He stole quickly up to the building, flattening himself against the wall, his senses at their usual state of alert when he was checking out something suspicious.

The voices he soon recognized as Dale Turner and Skylar Stevens.

"Come on Dale, no one's going to come and bust us for it. They have bigger things to worry about."

"That's not what I'm worried about, Skylar." Dale's voice sounded slightly irritated.

"What are you worried about? It won't hurt us to try it, this one time. Haven't you ever wondered what it's like?" She was plaintive, encouraging.

"I didn't need to. I've seen it. You know about my...well, that's what I'm worried about."

"Dale. Just because we try it once doesn't mean we'll end up like our parents. We'll be different."

In a quiet voice now, he answered, "You know I think it should be illegal."

In a gentle voice, she responded, "Nothing's illegal anymore, Dale. We're on our own, and no one can tell us what to do."

Groaning inwardly, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist making sure the orphaned teenagers weren't about to make a dumb mistake they'd regret in the coming months, Jake stepped around the corner.

At the sound of his approach, a shocked Dale and Skylar looked up at him. Skylar was holding a bottle in her hand, and on the ground, between them, was a cardboard case. Jake had to chuckle at the irony.

"Light beer, huh?" he asked.

Skylar bore the look of a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, though she tried to stare determinedly back at him. Dale on the other hand wore a sudden expression of defiance.

"It's not ours," he said. "Sean Henthorn just asked us to get it for him."

"Are you sure?" Jake asked slowly, fighting not to laugh. He glanced over at Skylar. "You sounded pretty sure it was yours a few seconds ago."

Skylar couldn't come up with a retort, though she seemed to be searching for one. Dale reached for the bottle in her hand. "It's not her fault," he said solemnly.

Jake held his hands up in surrender as the two teenagers stepped closer together, a united front over the light beer case. "Look, I don't really care what you're doing with your spare time. Long as you're not killing anybody, it's your business," he chuckled. "But you know, I'd go for the real stuff if I were you."

He chuckled again, but neither of them said anything. Dale reached for Skylar's hand and they stood, staring defiantly back at him. Whatever disagreement they were having a few seconds ago seemed to have vanished.

"Okay, then," he said, shrugging, and turning to walk back towards Main Street. In the quiet night, he could almost hear them laughing breathlessly and teasing each other as the danger of authority interfering had passed. He shook his head in amusement.

When he reached Main Street, he turned, deciding to head north towards home. Tonight had been a bust anyway, what with all the odd couples and the sloppy romancing obnoxiously intruding on his evening drink. How had this all happened anyway? He'd come back to Jericho, the bombs had gone off, and suddenly all these very mismatched couples had sprung up around him. And were constantly dancing and kissing and hand holding in his face. Flaunting their amateur advice giving past, creative heat generating strategies, and teenage rebellion. What was the world coming to? Had the bombs changed everything so much that people who didn't love crossword puzzles, flannel pajamas and light beer shacked up with people who did? But if that was true, than why didn't... No, the world had just gone crazy, in the wake of the bombs. That was it. His family and friends along with it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sight of a brown truck he recognized as one of the Richmonds'. And inside it, an actual pair of teenagers making out in a parked car. He made a sound of disgust and hurried along, even though neither Bonnie nor Sean noticed him stomping by at all.

Yes, he decided as he kept walking. The world had gone crazy. And he was starting to wonder if he was going crazy too, because he was starting to wish he could join them.