Ben was the smartest, although Richie suspected that in the right situations, Mike would give him a run for his money. All the Losers had a good quality about them, for the most part -- Richie excluded, because they were Losers, and so they couldn't all be winners. But Ben wasn't here, so for now Beverly would have to make do with Richie's ranting idiocy.
She looked warmer already, and he was glad about that -- but he didn't really think about leaving the shop until Beverly had all the color back in her face, until maybe her hair was a little more dry. Maybe he was stalling because what he really had to say was going to be Too Much in a way he couldn't quantify, and she was going to have questions and demands and probably knowing sorts of looks. He was excited about it, but he was nervous too, the telltale signs of acid already sort of burning it's way up the back of his throat.
"Everything is everything," he said, like that made sense. He'd get to it. He was getting to it. "We can't leave. Not really. There's these--fucking. Doors? There's a house. It's got doors to places. Millions of places. But it's not really leaving so much as visiting. It's a mind fuck." He patted down his pockets -- avoided the little box there that was weighing him down and lifting him up all at the same time -- and instead pulled out a crinkled pack of cigarettes. He'd quit years ago, but that didn't stop him from sneaking one every once in a while -- although usually only in social situations. Still, this called for it, and Beverly would be the last one to protest.
They couldn't smoke in here though, not around all the clothes. Richie was an asshole but that didn't mean he wasn't occasionally contentious. "There's a coffee shop a few doors up," he said after a beat, but he didn't know if they'd ever get there. The smoking was going to be the build up to the real main attraction.