"Sorry," Alan called as he ran by. "No vacancies at the Hotel Anders!"
"Then I won't sleep!" he cried on his next pass. "I'll play all night
and all day in the streets. I'll knock on every door on every street and
introduce myself to every person and learn their stories and read their
books and meet their kids and pet their dogs!"
"You're bonkers," Alan said, using the word that the lunch lady back at
school had used when chastising them for tearing around the cafeteria.
"Easy for you to say," Greg said, skidding to a stop in front of
him. "Easy for you -- you're *here*, you got *away*, you don't have to
deal with *Davey* --" He closed his mouth and his hand went to his lips.
Alan was still young and had a penchant for the dramatic, so he went
around to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer
and banged it down on the counter, pouring out four shots. He tossed
back his shot and returned the bottle to the freezer.
George followed suit and choked and turned purple, but managed to keep
his expression neutral. Fred and Ed each took a sip, then set the drinks
down with a sour face.
"How's home?" Alan said quietly, sliding back to sit on the minuscule
counter surface in his kitchenette.
"It's okay," Ed mumbled, perching on the arm of the Goodwill sofa that
came with the apartment. Without his brothers within him, he moved
sprightly and lightly.
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