Kitten sips her coffee and watches with amusement as Angel shovels pancakes, eggs and bacon into her mouth, stopping only momentarily to drink some orange juice. Having led a similar life in the streets of London at the same age, she knows it might've been a long time since Angel has eaten a decent meal, so she doesn't interrupt, though she is eager to talk to the younger transsexual. Once she finishes eating, Angel leans back in her chair and hunts through her pockets. Finally, she comes up with a half-smoked cigarette. Sticking the butt into the corner of her mouth, she searches further, producing a beat-up disposable lighter. She flicks her dark eyes up to meet Kitten's blue ones.

"You mind?" Angel mumbles around the cigarette. In response, Kitten picks up a nearby ashtray and pushes it towards her. "Thanks." Angel tries three times to light the lighter, stopping each time to shake it. Finally, Kitten picks up a book of matches off the counter and lights the cigarette for Angel. "Thanks again," Angel mutters, the hint of a smile showing around the smoking butt in her mouth. She takes a drag and scissors the short cigarette between her first and second finger, exhaling and pausing to pick a bit of lint out of her mouth.

"So. Kitten. Where are you from? I can't place your accent."

"Tyreelin. It's in Ireland, darling."
"Never heard of it."
"Oh, you wouldn't've. It's a wee little town. No reason anyone should've heard of it. But I live in London now with my Charlie."

"Why are you here?"

"Charlie's always dreamed of New York. She wanted to walk down Broadway and see the lights."

"She?" Angel interrupts, shooting Kitten a look of utter disbelief. Kitten laughs lightly.

"Yes, she. We've been friends since we were children. We lived together for a while when Rosie was small. Now Charlie's a husband and Rosie's in university. I live in the flat across the hall from them."

"Who's Rosie?" Angel asks, finding herself interested in the stranger's life, quite in spite of her better judgment.

"Charlie's eldest daughter, darling. She's a little older than you are. Which brings me to an idea; Charlie's two youngest are here with us. We'll be here a couple of months and they don't know anyone, poor dears. I promised them I'd try to help them make some friends. Would you be interested?"

"Me? Hang out with Irish kids?" Angel sneers.
"They're English, dear."
"English, Irish, whatever." Angel stands, puts out her cigarette, and picks up her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder. "Look lady, thanks for the breakfast and all, but I don't need any of your help. I'm doing just fine on my own."

"Oh, I know you are, dear. I know just how you're doing." Kitten's voice is soft, but her meaning is clear.

"You . . ." It's on the tip of Angel's tongue to say 'You wouldn't understand,' but as she meets Kitten's eyes she realizes: This is the one person she's ever met who really can understand. In Kitten's kind eyes she sees her own life mirrored and she knows that she understands everything she's been through, everything she will go through. She nods, slowly.

"Yeah. I would like to meet them."

Kitten pays the check and puts on her hat and sunglasses and the two of them head out together. She offers Angel her arm as the two stroll down the street. After a moment's hesitation, Angel slides her hand comfortably into the crook of Kitten's elbow. Kitten smiles to herself as she leads her new friend to her sublet in Brooklyn.