The brunette sipped her coffee from a chipped porcelain cup and told her story. Once she started, it was so familiar, Dzinski let his mind wander and filled in the blanks himself.
A runaway, come to the city to make it big and realized it wasn’t quite as easy as in the pictures. Found a place with another girl and a job as a waitress. One night the other girl drags her along to a club. They meet a few men and have a good time. The next morning the men are gone but they left some money. So she feels awful, but gets over it. They go out again the next week.
Dzinski stopped listening. Rolling downhill always starts with small steps he thought. He looked her over and thought this one might not end up a wreck.
They finished their coffees.
“So what now,” the brunette said, her fingertips dragging along the blue ink patterns on the cup, her eyes looking up through her thick lashes, her head leaning forward.
“Now,” he said, standing, “I’ll do the dishes while you get dressed. Then I’ll drive you to the bus station and send you home.”
He cleared the table and turned to the sink.