Phil reared back on the couch. "By God, may I never travel again. We got an orange truck all the way from Barcelona to Les Halls, but rides were hell, wouldn't stop, and can't say I blamed them with the three of us looking like a fucking gypsy caravan loaded up to the ears with, Christ, the suitcase we started out with and a huge basket full of Maureen's fucking sheashells and out blankets and all these clothes--you blew half the bread on clothes, Maureen--and Aleck bought a guitar and this three foot long water pipe with knobs so you couldn't carry it under yours arm and you even had that bookpress you bastard, I said we had at least to get rid of that."
Aleck interrupted,. "I need that bookpress to press hash, man. You'll be glad to have it now."
Brian snuffed out his cigarette, his abstraction. "It's supposed to be pressed already."
Sitvar said, "Shouldn't he be here by now? "It was nine when Frishta and I left."
Tom agreed. "I wonder what time it is. Does anyone have a watch?"
"No." Shoulder shrugged.
"Do you suppose he's been busted?"
Brian assented. "I told him it was a bad week to go. If he'd left this week it would have been a different matter."
Aleck said, "Are you ready for more excitement, Maureen? They might have forced this address out of him." They all reconsidered.
Sitva said, "Toss me the anise seeds."
Fingernails drummed on the window. No one moved. Tom said, "The cops wouldn't know to tap on the window, would they?" He stood up.
Sitva said, "The cops know everything."