Loitering vs. No Loitering

From my novel A Western Capitol Hill:

Zack and Roach steal small bottles of lemon extract from a supermarket. They swallow the bottles of liquid – containing 87% alcohol – whole and in succession, their lips puckering, as they envision life without lawmen beneath mountain runoffs of gin. They sit beside a stone church with a sign staked onto the lawn that says, “No loitering.” Luckily, that nice bike cop who checks on the welfare of the homeless – for instance, whether they need referrals to shelters during the winter, whether they’ve stopped breathing – hasn’t been by, yet, to bust them for public intoxication.