Out on the street, the conversation always came back to the rain. Even when the rain stopped, it took days to dry out the shoes and coats and packs. The kids huddled in the doorway of the old Ben Franklin, down at the end of town where no one bothered. They talked about relocating somewhere on the other side of town because the heavy rains of February had started to pool into their flat. Jerry said he’d seen some sandbags around the gutters over on Plymouth and he was planning to grab them after dark. He asked Louis if he’d stick around to help. Louis shook his head and took a long drag from his cigarette, then handed the rest to Jerry.
“Naw,” Jerry answered for Louis. “LouLou better get home before mommy worries.”
The girls giggled and Louis smacked Jerry in the arm. The sky let up briefly as he backed out of the doorway, but the eaves dribbled so much it was hard to tell if it had really stopped raining. Louis held out his hands in disbelief as he walked away and someone said something he couldn’t hear that struck them all funny. He shoved his fists in the pockets of his black jean jacket, stuck out in the drizzle again. He really had no desire to stay with his friends, if you could call them that, and even less of a desire to go home.