Pita sat in an alley in the shadow of a rotted-out chesterfield. She’d tried sleeping on it the night before, but the springs had dug into her back. Now she leaned against its padded arm, ignoring the musty smell of moldy fabric. She took a bite of a Sweetnut Puff and washed it down with some steaming soykaf. The doughy pastry made her teeth ache, so she tossed it aside. Then she dug inside her pocket.