A pair of young event staff in the night, each one bearing a flower arrangement in a pot.
"I gotta find the way to get from the pink to the red."
"I think it's just Clark and Lake."
I nod, and interject, "He's right, but from here the pink goes out to Clinton, and all the way to 54th. We're already past the point of transfer." They thank me, and run through scenarios together:
- What if you get stranded out there?
- The pink runs until two, it'll be fine. And if it's not I'll jump it.
- What if you get caught jumping it and they call the cops?
- I'll be long gone by the time the cops show up.
- I like the way you think. You sure you don't want wanna just crash at my pad, man?
- Nah, I got stuff to do tomorrow morning.
- Wish I had some weed, man. Weed goes real well with this stuff, chills it out.
The orange comes, and then the pink. They bundle their potted plants carefully into their arms and are gone, a few cars back.