"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sam! Is she talking to me?!" Al took a step backward, as though somewhat disturbed by this revelation.
Sam glanced from his hologram companion to the young girl. She was most definitely looking at Al. And she had replied to him, too. Which more than proved that she could see him. Did that mean she could see Sam for his true self, also?
He blinked yet again.
"Well, er, I--"
Sam scratched his head.
"Hello, Annie. I'm, uh-- psst! Al! Who am I?"
"Oh," Al said, smacking his multi-colored handlink. The device made a few squeaking and squawking noises. "Come on, you stupid piece of-- Here we go! You're Douglas Pr-Pras-- stupid crap machi-- Pratt. Douglas Pratt. Age, fifty-seven. You've been living in a park over on Third and Whitmore where you ... steal food from the pigeons."
Sam just stared at Al.
"Pigeons?"
"That's what it says! It says pigeons! Which reminds me. I saw this cute little pigeon yesterday at the tracks. Ooh, she had the nicest set of--"