"It looks like a depressed concrete block," Hassan shivered. He pulled his duct-tape headband down over his ears. "And it's wet. Why is the air wet?"
"It's called drizzle, Hassan," Karim said, pulling up the collar of his thin jacket.
"IT IS TERRIBLE FOR RETAIL!" Mo shouted. He was dragging a suitcase made entirely of woven plastic shopping bags.
"I TRIED TO SELL A MAN THE FOG! I CALLED IT 'LONDON CLOUD EXTRACT'! HE TOLD ME TO PISS OFF! THESE PEOPLE HAVE NO BUSINESS ACUMEN!"
"Keep your voice down, Milo," a new voice echoed through the rain.
Karim froze. He turned around.
Standing under a broken bus shelter were two boys. One was incredibly wide, holding a completely soaked cardboard box. The other was leaning against the glass, casually tuning a ukulele that was missing two strings.
"Mark!" Karim yelled, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "Rico!"
