"Hey little Latin boy in drag, why're you crying?" The voice is higher even than hers, tinged with an accent she doesn't recognize. It's soft, lilting, musical, and the eyes which go with the voice are just as kind; bright blue, dark-lashed, set into the face of a beautiful middle-aged transvestite, so she decides to forgive the insult.

"M'not a boy in drag." Angel replies petulantly, dragging her hand across her eyes, drying her tears and smearing her eyeliner.

"Sorry, darling," the stranger says lightly. "I heard that line in a movie once and I've been dyin' to use it. How often will I get the chance?"

Angel finds herself smiling, in spite of herself, and looks again at the stranger, who is smiling sweetly back at her.

"Good, that's what I was hopin' for. Now why don't you tell your old auntie Kitten what you're doing here?"

"My papa kicked me out."

"Oh oh oh oh. That's no good, no good at all. My ma kicked me out too. Well I left. Saved her the trouble, I think. But that's been years ago, no good dwelling on that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well darling, what's in the past is in the past. No need worryin' on what you can't change, is there?"

"I guess not."

"How old are ya, angel?"

Angel draws back and eyes the older drag queen suspiciously.

"How'd you know my name?"

"I didn't. Is Angel your name? Oh. Why, it suits you. You've the face of an angel. So how old areya?"

"Seventeen."

"Ah, sweet seventeen. I remember seventeen. It wasn't all that sweet, I can tellya."

"No. It's not."

"Why'd yer da kick you out?"

Angel sweeps her hand over her body, indicating her wig, blouse, slacks, stiletto-heeled boots.

"Look at me."
"Well, you're a touch underdressed, that's sure, but I don't see any need to kick you out on account of that. All you need are a few makeup tips and a new wardrobe and you'll be perfect."

"Who are you?"

"Ah. Where are my manners?" The older transvestite offers Angel her hand. "Patrick 'Patricia' Pussy Braden." Angel snickers a little. "Though in the States, I do go by 'Kitten' instead of 'Pussy.' Seems 'Pussy's' got a different meanin' here. Though it's not one I mind." Kitten's eyes sparkle mischievously. "And you are?"

"Angel Dumott-Schunard."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Schunard. Have you eaten?"

"No. I haven't got any money."
"Ah, well, that's no good. A growing girl like you. Let me buy you some breakfast."

Angel recoils a little, knowing what usually comes after kindness from strange men.

"Hey, I don't . . ."

Kitten lays a gentle hand on Angel's arm, and looks sympathetically into her eyes.

"Of course not, darling. I don't expect you to. I just want to buy you some breakfast."