There were about a hundred of them, of all ages. Larry recognized a former playmate of his—a boy of about nineteen, now—and there were older men, too, some well along in middle age. They sat quietly, unmoving, most of them, smiling pleasantly.
Larry entered the field and walked to the nearest bench.
"Mind if I join you?"
The man on the bench grinned. "Not at all. Sit right down, friend."
Larry sat. "You're a Permanent, aren't you?" he asked suddenly.
A shadow seemed to cross the man's face. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I'm a Permanent. Who are you?"
"I'm Changing," Larry said.
"Oh."
The Permanent studied him idly for a moment or two, then leaned back and closed his eyes. "It's nice here," he said. "The sun's warm."