Signs.

I think it would be really nice if we could tell 'em by their limping.

I'll explain.

Years ago, I ran across a lovely Irish lass; she was a sturdy, red-haired, heavy drinking girl who stole my heart for just a little while. She gave it back to me some time later, and it was one of the few times that the heart was not the worse for the experience.

One of the things that she left me was an Irish Prayer, and it went something like this:

May those that love us, love us.
And for those who do not love us, let God turn their hearts;
And if He cannot turn their hearts, let Him turn their ankles;
So we can tell them by their limpin'.

On this day, in this time of year, in this fallen city that the Gods of Warmth have forsaken, it would be nice to know them by their limpin'.

In fact, we should be able to tell them by their limpin', by the fact that their pants are on fire, and it would be really nice if they were made of glue.