“So you wanted to talk. What is it?” “Ah, right,” he said. “Well? Get on with it, soldier. I’m a patient girl, but there’s a battle tomorrow, and I have things to do.” “I, uh, have an answer to your question.” He hesitated like a high school drama student reading from a bad script. “Japanese restaurants don’t charge for green tea.” Rita Vrataski, the savior of humanity, the Valkyrie, the nineteen-year-old girl, let her mask slip. The Full Metal Bitch began to cry.
