"All told," Michael leans back from the bar top, "I'm really happy you figured out that you needed to be on time." He grabs the bag, looking over Sal. "You got good treatment."

It's about the nicest thing he could say to Sal at the moment, all things considered. The man still has a fucked up hand, he still looks like he might go purple out of a rage, and at the same time, he also looks like a swollen armadillo. He's never been one to be called good looking even when he was young, but it also looks like the last month hasn't been treating him too well with how he seems to have been roughened up and almost deflated.

Getting your ass beat by the Terranova heir doesn't do one many favors, Michael supposes. "I'll be on time next month," Sal grumbles out.

His place looks mostly empty as Michael nods, makes his way out. They've replaced the toolbox he can see, and he makes his way towards his car. The TransAm still drives well with how much he takes care of it, and he locks the money in the bottom of the false part of the trunk before moving everything else on top of it. Easy precautions.

It's dark, almost too late to go to one of the older stores, one of the ones independently run and still open twenty-four hours. But his Mama has her list, and Michael's a good kid when it comes to her. Sal was always the hardest Sunday chore, so he pulls out, hits the road when the streetlights fully pop on.

All of the aches and pains from two weeks ago are now gone for the most part whether through the tea or just some of the chi techniques he could scour from Bruce's memories. It's a strange feeling, being able to heal that quickly and feel downright invigorated by it.

It's just the memory gap that's an issue for him–that he can't remember how he got them all, good or bad. Eventually, it'll go away, eventually, he and Bruce will meet properly, and they'll all fall into place. It's just frustrating for him, as he tries to be patient with what Bruce has said, with Joe filling up the gaps and more. It's not as bad as it could be, not scrambling around trying to check drinks or checking security footage or trying to quietly figure a way out of a bad situation like it had been years ago.

It's just not great, either, as he parks in front of the store. It's one of those places that should've been regulated to a convenience store or fully committed to being the half mini mall that it is. It gives the whole place a bit of a soft neon look with all of the old signs they refuse to calm down, the bell ringing when Michael dips inside. There aren't a lot of people here at this time of night between it being in an admittedly rough neighborhood and it being Sunday with the damn Blue Laws.

Given he's been going here since he first knew how to walk, he about tunes most of everything out as he goes to look for everything on his mother's list. It's not a long one, and usually he needs to use his phone to remember. Not anymore; almost everything he can recall now, bar those black out days, is in detail he's never had before. It's a perfect recall he's still getting used to as he grabs a basket, pulls in the products she wants, the ones she forgot to say and even a few things for himself and Pops.

It's when he's lingering at the refrigeration that he hears, "So you can take a collection without it turning into a bust up."

"Hymie, now's not the time," he doesn't even look at the other man, checking the milk there. "It's Sunday. Go home." He can smell the cheap cologne that Hymie has, and a glance to one of the corner mirrors tells him that Hymie's there with his brother Tony and another guy that he doesn't recognize yet has such a similar build that he's pretty sure he's either another brother or a cousin.