Even if neither of them planned on confronting the situation at hand (in hand?) they could at least both find a little solace in the fact that it didn't really matter what normal friends or normal boys did anyway: they'd been branded losers since they'd been of the age where that kind of distinction was made. And they'd taken it one step further by wearing that insult like it was a brand, or a title. Not a bad thing. It was just what they were: part of the Losers Club. And they could do what they damn well pleased, because off-beat was the only way they really knew how to manage anyway.
Mind, if this was still Derry, Richie wouldn't have been so brave as to wander around town hand in hand with his best friend. He knew exactly what it meant and what it looked like, even if he wasn't saying so. But here it was so quiet, so sleepy -- well. There was no one else around to really see anyway. So he let himself have this, even if for only a short time.
He tried to shake the feeling of overwhelming badness that had nothing to do with what they were doing now, and everything to do with what they'd be doing later out of his head. Anything to clear the fog of dread. It wasn't as hard as it should have been. Eddie tended to always be able to pull him out of a funk; a special Kaspbrak talent, really.
"I don't have any money," he agreed, frowning. Even if he had, he hadn't thought to look around for his velcro wallet and he was wearing Eddie-not-Eddie's clothes. So really he had a whole lot of nothing. "Doesn't mean we can't check it out," he went on. "Maybe I can sweet talk whoever works there. Tell 'em it's for you and you're starving. They'll believe it."