Coffee Dark

The man crossed the intersection slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. First south, then east. He paid attention some attention to near nonexistent traffic, and a little more to the texture of the street. It was the 40th Anniversary of Woodstock... During intervening years "tripping" had taken on a different dangerous context.

She was waiting by the traffic light opposite his starting point, and said hello as he arrived.

"Good morning, sister," he replied. Partly leftover Woodstock... Mostly because her skin looked "coffee dark" under the night's light.

"Do you want to spend some time with me?"

Plaintive eyes. Too thick to be a cop.

"I need food. I'll do whatever you want for $20."

The asking price was low. Definitely not a cop.

"I live right over here," she said, pointing to a nearby apartment.

Rookie... Pros would never do business where they lived.

"I've got to go," he protested.

"Come on," she said. It was more plea than invitation.

The man reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a fiver he'd gotten as change a few blocks ago, and a world away.

"No, I really need $20."

"I'm not haggling," he explained, pressing the bill into her hand. "It's not what you want, but it gets you closer to where you need to be."

She looked down in silence.

He turned to leave... Not getting off, but getting away cheap.