In two hundred years, Cooper couldn’t recall hearing such an odd request. But after a discussion about past celebrations of Halloween came up that fall, he was asked to find some pumpkins. It was a very difficult task in the nuclear wasteland.

But of course he did it.

“Alrigh’,” he grunted, the somewhat deformed pumpkins under his arm as he stepped inside. He kicked the dirt off his boots and dropped the pumpkins down on the table. “Got y’r damn squashes.”

He didn’t know when he got so damn whipped. Not that he really questioned it. He leaned back on the counter, pulling the cigarette from his lips to let out a small puff of the smoke. Damn. He was soft.