I caught a flare of light from the corner of my eye, and turned to see her applying flame to something in her mouth. I remembered from our history; she was smoking. It was a habit long dead where I came from.
And then I remembered what she'd said about being drunk, and knew that, too, as one of our long disused vices. What was it Akers had said about 'being directed'? A theory, but discredited now, since our scientific advance. But this almost parallels evolution?
"Cigarette?" she said, and I said, "No, thanks. I—don't smoke."
"You're the only thing in Los Angeles that doesn't," she said bitterly. "Where are you from, Fred?"
"New York," I said. "Where are you from, Jean?"
"Believe it or not, I was born here," she said. "I'm one of the three people in this town who was born here."
"It's a big town, isn't it?" I said. "Less huddled than the others."
"Huddled," she said, and laughed. "Huddled. I like that. They huddle, all right, and not just the football teams. The gregarious instinct, Freddy boy."
"Well, yes," I agreed, "but why, Jean? Why haven't they outgrown it? Is it—fear?"
"You would have to ask somebody bright," she said. "When you get to Bundy, turn over toward Wilshire. We'll find an eating place that's open."