"No Mark, I was going to bust a hole in your living room floor for the goat to shit through, then spend the next few days potty-training her." Kira takes the logs as they come, hand sinking at the unexpected weight. He only fumbles the first inasmuch as it drops less gracefully where he wants it, and the others follow with solid, evenly spaced thuds.

What is he going to do with the fucking goat?

"We need something to get us to the hall," he points out. "Assuming this lets up enough to make digging worthwhile." Shovels not being stocked in most bodegas, he's at least familiar with making-do. "How many frying pans do you own?"