52 perihelion, a close catch

“Little kitten…” Yang Rong catches up in large strides, his military boots swishing over a puddle of water. “Do you really have to be like this? What have I done wrong for you to be so angry?”

“Eyes on the road, ten feet apart and no unnecessary chatter,” Noah replies flippantly. “Else I’d much prefer we head our separate ways.”

Yang Rong promptly stops talking – thank the deities because the man had been rambling nonstop for the past… day. From late last night to early this morning to now, late afternoon, Colonel Yang Rong is exceptionally skilled at making his presence known. Noah had fallen asleep to a monologue of magazines and city foods, then one of alcohol and cigarettes, then of some other grand escapade weaved into epic fantasy battlefield tales – all of them merely personal, distorted anecdotes of the colonel’s self-proclaimed greatness.