It was a two-story building, the lower windows covered with white graffiti. We spotted a 2001 blue Toyota four-door that Caballo swore he'd seen in the parking lot outside the rave. It looked like the sort of car a Mitch would drive. We drove on until we found a lot with a leg invisible from the street where we felt we could stash our bikes. Caballo had an alarm on his bike that could wake the proverbial dead. My security had always been my Mongol OMG membership. No meathead would steal a Mongol bike. These days, I had nothing, so we chained our bikes together. Nobody could get the Beast started but me anyway. Then Caballo and I shambled out onto the main sidewalk, trying to look a little like addicts. It's not a hard look for me to achieve, but Caballo glows in the dark, and in a few minutes we'd attracted a couple of admirers. From the cloud of homeless ebbing and flowing at the edge of buildings and alleys, two ventured across the street so that they stood on the corner of our block.
