“Shit,” Gregory said. Despite himself, the softness of the June night was reviving his spirits. He sat down on one of the red benches by a small bed of flowers, and smelled the moist air that rose from the river. It was a crappy life, he thought, even as he felt his spirits rise. Still, the night was so comforting that he decided to stay where he was. If anyone questioned him, he’d say he couldn’t sleep and came out for a walk. Now he was drowsily aware of his gums again, but suddenly he was too tired to care and he fell asleep on the bench.

When he awakened, it was sometime just after dawn. Not only did his gums hurt now, but two gumboils had apparently developed during his sleep, and the tip of his tongue was sore. Gregory grinned, and tried to ignore his difficulties, though, as he remembered the events of the night before. Best of all, he hadn’t stolen anything, even if he had intended to, so nobody new was after him. And he was on the honors system at the clinic division of the mental-health place. He grinned again, ambled over to the main building, climbed in his window, and sat down on the bed.

There were early noises from the security section of the building where the mentally disturbed were kept; and from somewhere, the smell of coffee. Gregory got up, went down the corridor whose walls featured glossy snapshots of the city and valley, and came out finally in a large room. The new sunlight poured through five east windows, leaving five brilliant paths upon the linoleum floor. In one corner, a television set was turned on, though no one was watching it. There were various kinds of chairs about the room, some upholstered in floral patterns, a few bean chairs, several tables, and lamps.

At first Gregory thought he was alone, but then a noise at the further end of the room caught his attention. The sun was so bright that he could hardly see, but in the glare he made out a man’s thin figure. “Uh, hi,” Gregory said. “Any idea where I could get some coffee or aspirin around here?”

The figure came closer. The man, in his forties, wore dungarees, shirt, sneakers, and carried a broom. “Custodian,” he said.

“They start you working early, huh?” Gregory asked.

“Verily,” the man answered.

“Verily? That’s a funny thing to say,” Gregory replied. “Cigarette?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” the man said, setting the broom aside.

Gregory grinned: he’d been lonely, he thought; and this guy seemed engaging in a way he liked at once. He lit the man’s cigarette. “Keep the joint clean, do you?” he asked.

They sat down facing each other, a small table beside them. “I’m Gregory Diggs,” said Gregory, amazed at his own politeness.