Rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet, Kenny's eyes listlessly scanned over the limited skyline in his view. He couldn't seem to figure out what to do with his hands, shifting from crossing his arms and shoving his fingers down into his jeans pockets, clutching around his lighter sinking to the bottom of the fabric chasm. He traced along the dips and rises of the buildings in the background across the street over the view of cars wanting so desperately to floor it in the mere fifty feet they had before the next stoplight.

They were sharp, cutting lines slicing through the daylight hours, angry steel structures that stood in defiance of what was once nothing but grasslands and fields and a lakeside view. They were nothing like the mountains back home, where they gently sloped up into the sky, meeting the clouds with a gentle greeting as they overtook the land. Mountains were powerful, but skyscrapers were daunting. Kenny's mind drifted off to Clyde still back home, wondering how his architectural endeavors were faring. Not much to build in South Park, only the occasional house or a surprise strip plaza needing any kind of blueprint. But he'd seemed comfortable with that when Kenny had seen him last, more than willing to make the money off what he considered 'the lowest exertion of imagination'. Kenny supposed for Clyde, that'd always been the pattern: Finding the easiest route and exploiting the living hell out of it. He'd slid through all their years of school on his looks and popularity alone, never wanting to step outside of that comfortable coddling.

In a way, Kenny envied that. He himself had a prior tendency to do simple, if not reckless things for a quick buck, but not making a living off it. After all, that was how his father tended to garner most of their family's money. Making bets on how many shots he could down before vomiting and passing out into his own filth was the primary source of McCormick income for years until Kenny's older brother finally reached working age. He and Kenny had done odd jobs in secret long beforehand, taking money for themselves and Karen and trying to keep one another fed and clothed while they watched their parents squirreling government paychecks off onto food to trade others for pills and booze. When he was twelve, he'd watched his mother hand off a perfectly good bagful of groceries for a half-full bottle of expired Valium, something that stuck with him for years. He didn't want to be like that, didn't want to exploit programs for the needy or make his way in life through under-the-table occupations.

He'd worked a clothing store throughout his high school years right up until he'd had to drop out of college, jumping right into another customer service hell just to be damn sure he didn't turn into the two people he so loathed. Craig and Clyde teased him for being a 'measly' cashier. Tweek had no scope of how difficult it was to break into and remain in the workforce being born secured in the family business. And Token could never quite grasp the concept of one not being able to get the money from their parents. But it mattered not, he at least had some semblance of pride to hang onto, even if it was something as meager as just having actual taxes taken out of his paycheck and being considered a working man that contributed to society in his own way. It was the little things, he'd come to learn. Clyde could keep his fancy little degree in his overheated office all he wanted. He was lazing on through by means of the spattering of employees he'd been able to grab after securing the managerial position at his firm.

Whatever made him happy and kept him from being nothing but a cocky douche like when they were kids, Kenny figured. Or at least, a cocky douche out of his earshot.

Ken glanced to his side as the Harbucks door swung open, hit with the potent aroma of French roast and letting out a long breath. He loved the smell of coffee. Rarely drank it, but adored the scent. He remembered it clearly following Tweek around wherever he went with their group. It started clinging onto himself while working late night shifts with Tweek at his family's shop, scrubbing out the espresso machine and helping restock syrups for a few extra bucks on the side. It was a nice little thing to find comfort in, so common a scent he could make it right in his apartment and, for just a few moments, be taken back home.

"Hey, Ken!" a voice far too chipper for the early afternoon hours burst over the never-ending symphony of the city.

He shot his head in the direction of the noise, seeing Chad making his way towards him and forcing himself to curl his lips upwards in the slightest. He had to at least try to be polite. His older brother didn't raise no ungrateful piece of shit. "Hey," he greeted, nodding with a brisk bob before standing up off his leaning post, opting to keep his hands burrowed deep in his pockets, putting that extra safeguard over his wallet and phone.

Chad made it beside him and smiled up sheepishly, "Sorry I'm late."

Kenny raised his brow, snatching out his phone and looking at the clock. "Dude it's 12:20. You're not late."

He snorted, "You say that, but trust me, to some people in my life, that's definitely considered late."

"Ew," he scrunched his nose. "Sounds like some people in your life need to get the stick outta their ass."

He waved off the notion, shaking his head. "No, no. They kind of have to live with their career measured down to the last second, so it makes sense."

"Bomb diffuser?" he guessed.

"You could call it that," he laughed. "Ready to go?"

He nodded, cracking his neck and stepping up beside the shorter man. "Where're we goin'?"

"Well you said you have pretty much all day to kill before your roommate is done with his classes so I'd assume you wanna wait until he's done?"

Kenny shrugged, "It's preferred. I'd rather not sit outside of snob central for hours if I can avoid it. But, you know, if I hafta, I hafta."

Chad gave him a curt nod. "Well, we both have the day to waste, so I say we start down this way," he waved his hand subtly and stepped off down the sidewalk, Kenny lingering just a few inches back from him as he kept pace. Chad shot him an easygoing smile, "Anything in particular you'd like to do?"

"Not really," he scratched through his hair. "If I was home I'd just be lounging around doin' jack shit, I'm not exactly full of hobbies."

He elbowed him in the slightest. "You have to have some kind of hobby."

"Does jerkin' off and then making my roomie wanna pull his hair out count?" he smirked.

Chad raised an amused brow, "I can't tell if you're actually friends with this guy or not."

Ken snorted, "Yeah. We've been best buds since we were kids. He's just a dick. Probably why I get along with him so well; I can relate."

He waved off the notion, "You don't seem that dickish."

"Hmm you don't know me very well, Dude," he shrugged with a teasing grin. "I'm a pretty terrible person when it comes right down to it. If someone attacks us, I'm throwin' you at 'em and dartin' away."

Chad laughed, shaking his head. "You know what, if that happens, you have my full permission."

"Well that takes all the fun out of it." He turned back forward, pivoting slightly to avoid crashing into a passerby locked in concentration on their phone. He scoffed, turning and glaring back towards the man who wasn't the least bit deterred from scrolling through his Facebook feed. "People here are so fuckin' rude."

Chad shrugged, "Not really. Just a lot of us are nonconfrontational. We'd rather plow right through and not make eye contact than ask you to move. Whoever isn't distracted is just expected to get out of the way. It's just how it's done, weird as it may seem."

"Tell me about it," he muttered. "You pull that shit back where I'm from and we'll at the very least flip ya off to getcha t' move. And we yell at ya for not payin' attention."

He paused, looking at him with the slightest hint of suspicion. "Where are you from, exactly?"

Ken's face fell into a fond, forlorn expression, "Colorado. Quiet lil mountain town. Until someone pissed you off, then you'd hear yourself echoin' all over downtown."

Chad's twisted face relaxed, and he let out a quiet laugh. "So, you're really not from around here."

"Nope," he popped his lips. "You Illinois fuckers are a strange species. I'm just here to take notes and report back to the human race."

He snorted, "They're a little strange to me, too, Man. I'm a Hoosier. I moved out here after college and just haven't gone back home yet."

"What the fuck is a fuckin' Hoosier?" he stared down at him.

Chad smirked, "I'm from Indiana," he elaborated. "Outside of Kokomo. It's less than half the size of Joliet, it's an itty-bitty city where no one raises their heads. You bump into people a lot more than you do up here."

"Okay, but that didn't answer my question," Kenny cocked his brow. "What's a Hoosier?"

He clicked his teeth, looking up thoughtfully, trying to figure out the best way to explain it to a non-native. "Someone who's from Indy. No one knows why we're called that, everyone has a theory. Either way, it's just what we are. We just kind of accept it."

Kenny considered this before breaking into a ribbing smirk. "Well, it could work to your advantage. Hittin' on someone, all ya gotta say for your opener is 'Hoosier daddy?' and you're set."

"Ha. Ha. That one neeeever gets old," he rolled his eyes. Ken burst into laughter at him shaking his head, practically seeing the years' worth of repetition cycling through his mind.

"Man, and I thought I was bein' so original," he chuckled.

"You and the millions of others who pull out that line. Pretty sure IU had that on their shirts one year," he scoffed, coming to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk. The two of them stared at the crossing light across the way, letting the echoes of the city pulsate around them.

Kenny covered his mouth as he let out a long yawn, eyes tearing up in the slightest and smacking his lips. "So, where're we headin'?"

Chad shrugged, "Well, you haven't really been around, figured tourist traps were a good place to start. Shedd gets you out of the 'I Heart Chi-Town' jurisdiction at the very least. So, that's a bonus."

Ken nodded slowly, "Well, that's good. I'm definitely not goin' home with a souvenir magnet. Craig would call me an unoriginal fuckwad who wouldn't know art if it fucked me up the ass."

"…I'm guessing that's a common phrase for him."

"You have no idea." Chad snorted with laughter, leading him across the street as the light turned, Kenny keeping up at his side with not-so-subtle side eyes directed towards brisker passersby. "So we're walkin' there?"

He shook his head, "You have a Ventra, right?" Kenny nodded and he smiled, looking more relieved than Ken was sure that he meant to. "Good. No, we're hittin' LaSalle up to Union, then we'll hit the 146 and it'll backtrack and take us straight there."

Kenny blinked, head spinning with locations and numbers, Chad speaking an entirely new language without a goddamn dictionary in sight. "How the fuck do you memorize all this shit?"

He shrugged, "It's really not that bad once you get used to it. And you learn the ones that hit Shedd or the Pier or Willis pretty quickly because a lot of tourists come up and ask you about 'em."

He hummed softly, stepping up onto the curb with him and cracking his neck with a long sigh. "I couldn't do it, Man. Someone asked me for directions to the nearest McDonald's at work the other day and I just blanked. It's about a block from the station and I get lunch there like, once a week."

Chad chuckled, "Well, it's different here. I was like that in Aurora. But if you work in the city, you're pretty much told that a part of your job is to at least have the Google skills to help visitors find their way. Don't worry too much about it, Man. Everyone is confused the first few times they come around. Sometimes you learn slowly, but you still learn. That's why you should come with someone who knows what they're doing, and even I only have the barest idea of where to go. I learned everything from my boyfriend," he snorted. "Even he still has to look routes up."

"How long has he been in this hellhole?" Kenny raised his brow.

"Eight years. He came here for college and just never left."

Ken smirked, "So almost a decade and he can't figure this place out either?"

"Hey, he's got you and me beat," Chad shrugged. "And to him, this place is pretty tame."

"I find that severely hard to believe," he drawled.

A small, wistful smile curled up on his lips, "Well, you hear some of his stories from where he's from or see how he gets and you definitely get a newfound fondness for people ducking their heads down around you." Kenny raised his brow, looking back into the thrall of people surrounding them at said heads tilted towards phones and books. Sure, they were keeping to themselves, but there were still so many of them. It was overwhelming no matter how calm their faces made it seem. Individually, they were harmless, but in this mob, they were a force to be reckoned with, whether they saw it or not. He couldn't imagine anywhere outside of maybe New York or LA competing with such vehemence. He shuddered at the notion.

Kenny forced his attention back to his companion, not willing to stew in the mindset of what possibilities lurked about. "So how much does the fish park cost?"

He smirked, "Well, they have a pass to see all the on-site stuff for around forty…" he paused, seeing Kenny cringing to himself in the slightest. "And they also have a limited on-site pass for in-state people for about eight."

"That one," he nodded confidently. "Definitely that one. I'm pinchin' my pennies enough as it is, Man." He bit down, feeling a small string of anxiety from the whirlwind of walking through crowds starting to settle in his chest. "Mind if I smoke?"

He winced a bit but shrugged, "Just stand on the other side downwind of me and it's fine."

"Nevermind," he waved it off. I'll smoke in the parking lot or something a good few yards from ya when we get there."

"No, seriously, it's fine if you want to, I just-"

"Dude," he cut him off with a scoff as they came to another crossing light. "I ain't dyin'. I can wait. It ain't a problem."

Chad gave him a small smile and a thankful nod. "So, money tight then?"

He shrugged, "I make barely minimum wage and my roommate doesn't have a job. His parents send a little bit every month but most everything comes from me. Making the trip out here had me rearranging our 'budget'," he air-quoted.

"Why'd you say it like that?" he raised his brow.

"Our budget is 'how many packs of cigs can we buy in these two weeks before we go broke and I must become a prostitute'."

"…Quit smoking?" he suggested.

Kenny snorted, "Listen. It keeps me from murdering everyone in a homicidal rage. I think that's worth seven bucks a pack, ya know?" Chad gave a small, sheepish shrug and Ken grinned. "Had to give up one'a mine to get my card filled up."

Chad nodded slowly, the both of them stepping off with the group surrounding them to the next sidewalk across the way. "Have you looked for a higher paying job?"

"Not many to be had in Joliet without a degree," he said with a quiet sigh. "I'm gonna be stuck in cashiering hell makin' goddamn $8.45 the rest of my life."

Chad winced, "God, is it really that low of a wage outside of here? I completely forgot it was that bad."

"Nah, it's $8.25 at the minimum. In the last three years working there I got fuckin' twenty cents of a raise total," he scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The boss won't let me be full-time, works me literally a half-hour under it every week," he groaned.

Chad awkwardly patted his arm as they stepped onto the sidewalk. He paused, biting his lip thoughtfully and looking up towards the lightly clouded sky. "Well… you ever think of gettin' a job out here?"

Ken barked out a laugh, "Dude, I didn't even know you guys made more money 'til ya told me last week. And pretty hard for me to work somewhere I don't know my way around."

"What if there was somewhere real close to LaSalle, like right down the road? Not hard to find from your usual route at all?"

Kenny looked down at him and cocked his head, "Harbucks hirin'?"

He shook his head, "No, and where I'm thinking of, you'd get even more money than you would working with me."

"Then… why don't you work there?" he questioned.

He smirked, "I have my reasons. But I know they're pretty desperate for help…" he pulled out his phone to check the time, clicking his tongue. "We can walk around Shedd for a while, grab a bite, and go over there after it opens. At least for you to see it," he shrugged.

Kenny blinked, nodding his head slowly and weighing the possibilities. "What is it?"

"A restaurant," he elaborated. "They-"

"I don't have waiting experience," he cut him off. "Like, zilch."

"They need bussers, too," he continued. "Badly. I'm sure they'd be happy to help you out. And you'd make a lot more money, and just have to take the one train you know instead of a thousand bus transfers once you hit the city."

Kenny winced, shifting a bit and wishing he hadn't already told him he'd wait to light up his Marlboro. "I… I'm not so sure I'd be a good fit here, Man."

"Listen, I'm just trying to help, and it gets you out of Joliet and away from a cash register. Why not just look and talk?"

"I'm not even dressed for an interview of any kind," he reminded him, gesturing to his tattered jeans and oversized hoodie.

Chad chuckled, "Coming in with me, I think that won't matter quite as much. Wanna at least give it a shot? If you don't want to, that's fine, I'm just throwing it out as a decent opportunity maybe."

Ken twisted his lips, letting out a long breath and looking back forward. He wasn't wrong, extra money would be great. Getting out of a gas station would be even better. And there was no guarantee either way that he'd come close to getting a job, but maybe hearing a prospective wage could boost him forward and maybe make him look a tiny bit more closely at jobs around the Loop at least. Less chance of getting mugged if he didn't have to go to bus after bus… He gnawed a bit on his tongue before looking back at Chad's waiting face and giving him a soft nod. "All right. To look. No promises, though."

He grinned, obviously pleased with his answer. "No promises," he agreed. "I think you'll like it though, no one gets screwed over while working there."

Kenny gave him a small smile back, shivering at the autumn air picking up a light speed and seeping through his hoodie. Well. That would certainly be a nice change of pace. He sighed, glancing up and seeing the approaching Metra station a few streets down. He couldn't help but smirk to himself in the slightest, forcing himself to look on the brighter side of the situation. At the very least if this turned into a decent prospect, for the first time in years, he wouldn't be coming home smelling like hot dogs and diesel.