It's an ordinary early autumn night in New York: chilly; not uncomfortably so, yet, but promising to get colder as the season wears on. A scruffy, long-haired vagabond emerges from the shadows in the alley behind a clothing store, unhesitatingly enters the passcode to disarm its security system, quickly picks the lock, and goes quietly in.
"Yeah, I mean, it's obvious if you look at the statistics, it almost never happens, but whenever it does the media just jumps at it like sharks with lots of fearmongering and stuff."
"Yeah. D.o.S. seems to be almost designed to scare people, so people get scared, and there's lots of propaganda about how the City isn't that dangerous but you should always be vigilant and careful, followed by very detailed lists of cubism symptoms and gory descriptions of cubism incidents, and it does the opposite of making people think the City isn't that dangerous."
He shrugs. "Yeah. 'Tis what it is. I mean, they do good work, they put out fires and mostly control crime but they could go about that better. I'll probably want to join them and do something to fix it."
She seems to still be skeptical.
"Oh... got, email address? I might, move, if Hollister... makes a problem, here."
"Oh, yeah, I made myself one a couple of days ago." He recites it for her.
And she puts it into her phone's contacts. "Will email, when, I have one. Thanks."
"Okay! ...should I bring some money, too, next time I come? That might be more useful than just straight-up food."
"I mean, with money you could buy stuff you liked or wanted and stuff. I guess that's better."
"...doesn't, make a difference, like that. If I have, money, I can... buy, things, but..." she waves a hand vaguely. "Really need something, stealing's easy? And... hard to be, enough, money, to never need to. Job, maybe, but."
And she goes back to lurking under the library, waiting for someone to ask a librarian for internet help so she can find out what the local google equivalent is.