"I was wondering if you remembered my name," Jordie says, stepping up beside him. No terrible hat tonight: he's bareheaded, and his scarf is something approaching reputable (if a little garishly colored for finer tastes). "Nice to know you're not dead."
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Light from streetlamps looks like a snowglobe, with every lamp creating its own little world.
There are footsteps crunching behind Simon. "Tam."
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"Jordie."
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"How have you been?" He doesn't stop moving, but slows for long enough to let Jordie fall into step with him.
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