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her mother could have tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, and none of them would have recognized her.
    Looking back, Val knew she had a habit of trusting too much, being too passive, too willing to believe the best of others and the worst of herself. And yet, here she was, falling in with more people, getting swept along with them.
    But there was something different about what she was doing now, something that filled her with a strange pleasure. It was like looking down from a high building, the way the adrenaline hit you as you swayed forward. It was powerful and terrible and utterly new.
    Val spent the day there with Lolli and Dave, sitting on the sidewalk, talking about nothing. Dave told them a story about a guy he knew who got so drunk that he ate a cockroach on a dare. “One of those New York cockroaches, ones that are the size of goldfish. The thing was halfway out of his mouth and still squirming as he bit down on it. Finally, after chewing and chewing he actually swallows. And my brother is there—Luis is some kind of crazy smart, like he read the encyclopedia when he was home with chicken pox smart—and he says, ‘You know that roaches lay eggs even after they’re dead.’ Well, this guy can’t believe it, but then he starts yelling how we are trying to kill him and holding his stomach, saying he can already feel them eating him from the inside.”
    “That is nasty,” Val said, but she was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. “So deeply nasty.”
    “No, but it gets better,” said Lolli.
    “Yeah,” Sketchy Dave said. “Because he pukes on his shoes. And the roach is right there, all chopped up, but clearly pieces of a big black bug. And here’s the thing—one of the legs moves.”
    Val shrieked with disgust and told them about the time that she and Ruth smoked catnip thinking it would get them high.
    When they had sold a faux crocodile-skin clutch, two T-shirts, and a sequined jacket from the blanket, Dave bought them all hot dogs off a street cart, fished out of the dirty water and slathered with sauerkraut, relish, and mustard.
    “Come on. We need to celebrate finding you,” Lolli said, jumping to her feet. “You and the cat.”
    Still eating, Lolli jogged down the street. They crossed over several blocks, Lolli in the lead, until they came to an old guy rolling his own cigarettes on the steps of an apartment building. A filthy bag filled with other bags sat beside him. His arms were as thin as sticks and his face was as wrinkled as a raisin, but he kissed Lolli on the cheek and said hello to Val very politely. Lolli gave him a couple of cigarettes and a crumpled wad of bills, and he stood up and crossed the street.
    “What’s wrong with him?” Val whispered to Dave. “Why’s he so skinny?”
    “Just cracked out,” Dave said.
    A few minutes later, he came back with a bottle of cherry brandy in a brown paper bag.
    Dave rummaged up an almost-empty cola bottle from his messenger bag and filled that with the liquor. “So the cops don’t stop us,” he said. “I hate cops.”
    Val took a swig from the bottle and felt the alcohol burn all the way down her throat. The three of them passed it back and forth as they walked down West Third. Lolli stopped in front of a table covered in beaded earrings hanging from plastic trees that jangled whenever a car went past. She fingered a bracelet made with tiny silver bells. Val walked to the next table, where incense was stacked in bundles and samples burned on an abalone tray.
    “What have we here?” asked the man behind the counter. He had skin the color of polished mahogany and smelled of sandalwood.
    Val smiled mildly and turned back toward Lolli.
    “Tell your friends to take more care whom they serve.” The incense man’s eyes were dark and glittered like a lizard’s. “It’s always the messengers who are the first to know the customer’s displeasure.”
    “Right,” Val said, stepping away from the table. Lolli skipped up, bells