Scott kept an eye on Ami from his place in line. He almost 'said' something when she winced with pain, but only looked in her direction. She, the redhead with the hot young wife/girlfriend and baby, and the surly teenager all were exchanging glances, some more obviously than others. (The 'blokes' she heard, Scott surmised.) Between the general chaos in the room -- (How often do you see a well-endowed albino speaking French to a pouty lesbian's ghost friend?) -- and Ami's growing annoyance, he decided to leave her be.

When Scott reached the head of the line he blinked from the table's garish yellow. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the drab complex. Shaking his head, Scott added his and Ami's names and nationalities to the list.