“Hi back,” Kendra said, although she knew no greeting had occurred. She and Jenny were not friends, nor would they ever be.

Kendra dragged some cold fries through the remaining ketchup. The fire alarm glowed weakly in the upper corner of the room. Bryan sat down and sipped from the bottle. For whatever reason, the magnetism between them had dimmed.

They tossed the Burger King wrappers and wandered back into the showroom, searching for some new activity. Bryan made a few phone calls. Kendra left a few messages herself. They met up again at the register and recounted what they had learned about the outside world. Kendra had no news to report; Bryan had much. The party at Chris’s was a bust, he said. The cops had already come twice. The party in the park, however, was well underway, with four kegs tapped. It didn’t matter though. They would miss all of it.

“I wouldn’t have gone anyway,” Kendra said.

Bryan stared at the iron gate. His mood had dipped since the call from Jenny and the word from the world outside. The novelty of their situation was at last coming to an end, and he seemed be counting the seconds of precious, privileged time he was wasting.

“Sorry this is such a bummer for you,” Kendra said.

Bryan didn’t answer. He just slumped on the counter, laying his head on his elbows.

“What’s the matter?” Kendra prodded.

“Nothing,” Bryan said.

“Come on. What?”

“Really, nothing.” He paused for a while and the immense silence of the mall pressed in from the main hallway. “This place is just so fucking lame,” he finally said.

“You’re just noticing?” Kendra said.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Kendra shrugged, making eye contact with a mannequin. “I’m not sure I do.”

“It’s just a fucking façade,” he said. He gestured generally into the darkened mall. “This whole society, man, it’s based on crap. Fucking Limited. Fucking Old Navy. We’re supposed to pretend it’s all so fucking great. It sucks.”

Bryan was more drunk than Kendra had realized. Judging from his muddled speech and boneless posture, he might even be very drunk. Kendra wondered if she herself was that drunk, too. She tested her lips and found they were slightly numb, which meant that most likely yes, she was that drunk.

She sat on a stool with her arms folded and listened as Bryan proceeded to hold forth on all the vices of American culture as he saw them. American consumerism, American piggishness, the moral injustice of the throwaway society. He hated the mall and all it stood for. He hated television and he hated the internal combustion engine. Most of all he hated George Bush. He hated him more than anyone alive. The hole Bush had dug for the world would take generations to get out of. The environment alone . . .