It's raining. I'm standing outside, just because I feel like it. There are quite a few of us out here--not as a group, but as individuals and pairs--along the diner's window. A strong, steady wind blows the rain across the sidewalk.
Spig and Little Mike are next to me, in the corner. It's rare to find both of them out of rehab at the same time.
LITTLE: Man, I don't know about you, man.
SPIG: What?
LITTLE: What's your address?
SPIG: Why?
LITTLE: I know what it is.
SPIG: So what?
LITTLE: So, I saw at your house, man, you had a upside-down "B" instead of a eight. (Long pause.) See what I'm saying?
