“You want to knock on doors?” Kurt said.
“I think I would,” Alan said. “I suspect it’s a possibility. We can start with the shopkeepers, though.”
“I haven’t had much luck with merchants,” Kurt said, shrugging his shoulders. His chains jingled and a whiff of armpit wafted across the claustrophobic hollow. “Capitalist pigs.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Alan said.
“Wales Avenue, huh?” Kurt said.
They were walking down Oxford Street, and Alan was seeing it with fresh eyes, casting his gaze upward, looking at the lines of sight from one building to another, mentally painting in radio-frequency shadows cast by the transformers on the light poles.
“Just moved in on July first,” Alan said. “Still getting settled in.”
“Which house?”
“The blue one, with the big porch, on the corner.”