Tidelands: II-Four (26)

The Society. Global Strategy. Umami.

“They’re a death cult,” he’d said.

It had been a friend’s house party, back when Alex was a student – not the sort of place you’d except to find someone like him. Someone’s brother or their cousin, a low-level broker in the City and dressed like he’d come straight from work. In fact, it was his isolation that had first drawn her to him, his suit and tie repelling company like the sartorial signs of ideological herpes. He had been standing next to the boy wearing the t-shirt with a cartoon of a drunken Karl Marx saying, “Where the apparat-chicks at?”, an amused, supercilious look on his face while he’d sipped sangria from an Extinction Rebellion mug. Looking back, it’s probably because she’d felt like an outsider too.