First, one of the punks (who had a rusty "NO FUTURE" pin that Alan
thought would probably go for real coin on the collectors' market) asked
Natalie to pass her the cream. Then Link and another punk (foppy silly
black hair and a cut-down private school blazer with the short sleeves
pinned on with rows of safety pins) met over the baklava, and the punk
offered Link a napkin. Another punk spilled her coffee on her lap,
screeching horrendous Quebecois blasphemies as curses, and that cracked
everyone up, and Arnold, watching from near the blanket that fenced off
Kurt's monkish sleeping area, figured that they would get along.
"Kurt," he said pulling aside the blanket, handing a double-double
coffee over to Kurt as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was wearing a
white T-shirt that was the grimy grey of everything in his domain, and
baggy jockeys. He gathered his blankets around him and sipped
reverently.
Kurt cocked his head and listened to the soft discussions going on on
the other side of the blanket. "Christ, they're at it already?"
"I think your volunteers showed up a couple hours ago -- or maybe they
were up all night."
Kurt groaned theatrically. "I'm running a halfway house for geeky street
kids."
"All for the cause," Alan said. "So, what's on the plate for today?"
"You know the church kittycorner from your place?"
"Yeah?" Alan said cautiously.
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