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is Mook.” Travis motioned toward the girl next to him. “That's Mook's woman, Elda. Those two guys are Minion and Freestyle.” They nodded a silent greeting. She wondered if they ever talked.
    Mook handed the food to Elda. She went through it, peeling back plastic wrap, sniffing the clean white bread as if it might be poison.
    “He says it's cucumber and tomato,” Mook said.
    “It's got cream cheese too,” Travis said. “I mean, you're not vegan are you?”
    “No,” Elda said. “Just vegetarian.” She took a sandwich and a juice and passed the bag back to Mook. He took a sandwich and threw the bag to the other two guys.
    “So,” Mook said, his mouth half full, “I've already told you we're not interested in being part of your story, so what you doing back here again?”
    Travis shrugged. “Don't know. Thought maybe you'd reconsider. Tell the public that you guys aren't all thieves and drug addicts.”
    He laughed. “Dude, we are all thieves and drug addicts.”
    “That's not true.”
    “What? You want sob stories about how we got here? I told you, man, most of us are here by choice. We're not participating in that rat race. The economy's going to hell, people who chased money like it was a god are going to be shit out of luck and we'll be surviving, man. We'll be the ones who know how to make it on nothing. You don't miss what you ain't got. We don't need rescuing.” Mook suddenly leaned over Travis in a threatening way, but Travis didn't flinch.
    Emily did.
    “Step back,” Travis said as he stood up. “Man, why you got to get all up in my face?”
    Mook grinned and relaxed his threatening posture. He stepped away and took a seat in a busted lawn chair. Travis had passed his test. Mook motioned for him to sit.
    Travis took a moment to let things chill again, then he said, “The city's passing more ordinances about where you guys can congregate and panhandle. Funding for services is up for discussion too. Don't you want the public to hear your side?”
    The boy wiped his mouth on a filthy sleeve. “Fuck that, man. We're going to do what we do no matter what the man does. We're here to stay. We don't want to participate in the discussion.”
    “Some of the other kids need shelter. You can help those kids.”
    “I'm not into politics, man. It's no use trying to fight the machine.”
    “So you feel powerless.”
    “No. We're just under the radar, man.” He moved his hand flat through the air between them. “Off the grid.”
    The others made agreeing sounds and nodded and kept stuffing themselves with food. Travis reached into the long pockets on his cargo pants and took out candy bars. Without a word, he pitched one to each of the kids in turn.
    A rustling from up the bank made everyone freeze. In the distance stood a girl, tall and thin, a hood shadowing her face.
    “There she is again,” Elda said.
    Everyone looked uphill, acknowledging her.
    “You gonna go talk to her?” Elda said.
    Mook considered, then said, “No. She needs to come on down if she wants to hang.”
    “Who is it?” Travis asked.
    “Some new kid showed up about a month ago. Probably an Oogle. I've seen her at the drop-in. I don't know anything about her. Fiona knows her.”
    “She wants to join your group?”
    “Looks that way. She can hang, but she's got to ask.”
    “She got a name?” Travis asked.
    “I think,” Elda said, “Fiona said her name is Lorelei.”
    At Halcyon Coffeehouse, they sipped soy lattes and discussed their interview attempt.
    “Interesting names,” Emily said.
    “They don't give legitimate names,” Travis said. “They don't want to be tracked. That name Lorelei , that's from a graphic novel.”
    “So, what's an Oogle?”
    “A newbie. Somebody who doesn't yet know how to work the street economy. They have to learn where all the shelters are, where they can find a free feed, who to avoid, who to trust. It takes a while to learn the system. Oogles are usually younger kids, you know,