In an even voice Patty told them about the weird guy who had stopped by her window to tell her that the Fourth Cataclysm was coming, and then about the graffiti artist she chased off, the sparks in the tunnel, the device that exploded, and then she finally got around to the ghost. The latter sent Abby and Holtzmann into a frenzy of activity. While Erin and Patty stood idly by, they ran around the dining room gathering equipment and other gear seemingly at random, and squabbling over which piece of junk was most appropriate under the circumstances. When they had what they needed they all hurried out of their “office”—Erin had to use that term lightly or lose heart; it was just temporary, she told herself. They had pluck on their side, and “pluck” was “luck” that had peed on itself, or so her uncle used to say. Which, now that she thought about it, made absolutely no sense. Anyway, as they went down the stairs out of the Chinese restaurant onto the street, she realized what a pleasure it had been to listen to Patty talk; she was a voracious reader, thoughtful and well spoken, and that made Erin think fondly on the good old days at Columbia where she was surrounded by articulate, bright, nonchaotic people.
