Page 54 of The Revenge Game
I’m about to try to conjure up some defense of the muddy rejects of the candy rainbow when I spot Amos ahead in his usual spot. Kryptonite is curled beside him on a square of cardboard that has seen better days.
“Are you okay to stop here for a minute?” I say to Drew.
Drew’s forehead creases. “Sure.”
I crouch next to Amos and Kryptonite. Kryptonite’s tail thumps against the cardboard while Amos barely looks up from theMetrospread across his lap.
“This is my friend Drew. Drew, this is Amos and Kryptonite,” I say.
“Don’t tell me there are two of you now,” Amos grumbles.
“I just wanted to share the joy of your sparkling personality with a wider audience,” I reply.
“At least tell me there’s actual food in that bag and not more hotel vouchers.”
“Bacon sandwich. Extra crispy, just how you hate it.”
“You’re getting worse at this whole charity thing,” Amos mutters, but his hands are already reaching for the bag.
“Next time, I’ll try to see if they’ve got one that is burned completely.”
“Go on then, off you go. Some of us have work to do.” Amos gestures at his newspaper, where the crossword is half-completed in meticulous handwriting.
“See you Monday,” I say.
As we walk away, Drew falls into step beside me. I glance up to find him scrutinizing me so closely that heat invades my face.
“How long have you been giving him sandwiches?” he asks quietly.
“About two years. Started when I first moved into my apartment.” I shrug. “I was walking past him on the way to work every day, and one morning, I just…got him breakfast. Somehow, it turned into our thing. I’ve tried giving him hotel vouchers, but he seems to prefer the streets.”
“Do you know much about him?”
“Not really. He doesn’t talk about himself. But he’s got strong opinions about pretty much everything else.”
Drew’s quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on some distant point, his forehead creased.
But as we head into the tube station, he asks me about what housing insecurity is generally like in London, and we spend the tube ride to St Paul’s Cathedral talking seriously about the problems of unhoused people in the US and the UK.
I see a deeper, more reflective side of Drew, someone who really seems to care about the underlying societal issues that cause housing insecurity.
Which only makes me like him even more.
When we exit the St Paul’s tube station, St Paul’s Cathedral rises to our left, the white stone dome piercing the London sky in an imposing but oddly graceful way.
The morning sun catches Drew’s profile as he tilts his head back to study the cathedral. Something about the way the breeze ruffles his dark hair makes my fingers itch to smooth it back into place.
“You know what this place is missing?” Drew says suddenly.
“What?”
“Gargoyles. A building this grand needs at least a few stone creatures scowling down at everyone.”
“Maybe they thought gargoyles would clash with the whole ‘pristine wedding cake’ aesthetic they’ve got going on,” I say.
“I personally feel that the lack of grotesques is a design flaw. How else will tourists know they’re being properly judged by architecture?” Drew says, and I laugh.
Drew always has this weird reaction to my laugh. His eyes widen before darting away, and his shoulders tense for a moment before relaxing again.
