"Hi there!" Arnold said pocketing the book and dusting off his hands.
"Hey," the guy said into his stringy beard, fumbling with a
keyring. "I'll be opening up in a couple minutes, okay? I know I'm
late. It's a bad day. okay?"
Arnold held his hands up, palms out. "Hey, no problem at all! Take as
much time as you need. I'm in no hurry."
The anarchist hustled around inside the shop, turning on lights, firing
up the cash-register and counting out a float, switching on the coffee
machine. Alan waited patiently by the doorway, holding the door open
with his toe when the clerk hauled out a rack of discounted paperbacks
and earning a dirty look for his trouble.
"Okay, we're open," the anarchist said looking Alan in the toes. He
turned around and banged back into the shop and perched himself behind
the counter, opening a close-typed punk newspaper and burying his nose
in it.
Adam walked in behind him and stood at the counter, politely,
waiting. The anarchist looked up from his paper and shook his head
exasperatedly. "Yes?"
Alan extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Archie, I work with Kurt, over on
Augusta?"
The anarchist stared at his hand, then shook it limply.
"Okay," he said.
"So, Kurt mentioned that he'd spoken to your collective about putting a
wireless repeater up over your sign?"
The anarchist shook his head.
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