Henry steps into the checkout line, rolling the can of Miller High Life in an open palm as if it were the grip of a javelin. The cashier is a mousy, angry little thing, the sort whose spite blinds her to how lovely she really is. She catches him staring. She glances up again, catches him again. When he winks, pink percolates out of her dimples and over her cheeks.

He hands her the can in a way that ensures their fingertips touch. Her cuticles are crescents of scabs. She asks how it’s going—beep.

His elbows plant into the countertop. He leans in, squaring himself in her sight line. “Been a day. Hell of a day. Figure I’ll need another ten of those to cope.”

A grin curls her lips. “Tell me about it.”

This he decides to take literally.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I tried,” he says. “First of all, I got robbed.”

“No shit?”

“Yes, shit. Fuckers pulled a gun on me. Got off with my wallet and phone, right outside my office.”

“Oh, my god,” she says. “Full-on stickup status?”

“Full on. And that’s not even the worst of it. But I’ll spare you the boring details and come out with it.” He sinks lower to the counter, even closer to her. “Just cut straight to the part where you come in.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to need a favor from you. A tiny one. Just a crumb of compassion from you on this terrible, no good, very bad day. Think you can help me out?”

He grins. She grins. “What you got in mind?”

He fans the five and four singles between them. “I managed to scrape this out of my glove compartment and seat cushions. Nine dollars should cover this very necessary beverage along with five bucks’ worth of minutes on my backup, prepay cell.”

“Okay … and?”

“Thing is, my tank is empty. Running on fumes, and I still got to pick my kid up from school two towns over. Now, I hate to put you in a compromising spot and all, but just hear me out. I was thinking maybe you could ring me up for this beer and the phone minutes, plus an even twenty bucks on pump número dos out there. I got plenty of cash at home, and I promise you—on my mother, my son, cross my heart and hope to die—that I’ll come straight back here with two crisp twenty-dollar bills: one for the till, the second for your pocket.”

Pink goes gray. “Dude. I believe you and all, but.”

“How late you working until?”

“Pulling a double, here till midnight, but.”