“That’s …” He considers the magnitude of her suggestion, this elaborate and detailed plan that seems to come with no sermon or moralizing judgment attached, and it almost brings him to tears. It really does. “It’s a great idea, I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Where do you live?”

“Out in one of those subdivisions off Route Sixty-three. Stonebridge.” He can see her eyes narrow for a second, calculating the distance. “I can give you gas money, if that’s all right.”

“That’d be really nice, “she says and her face brightens right back up, like holiday lights that flicker for a moment but have no intention of letting a family down. “Only because tips were kinda shitty tonight and I gotta go register tomorrow morning.”

“Register?”

“For classes. I’m over at community college next semester. Just got my GED, so I figure, hey, why not?”

“Absolutely. That’s really … so, yes, I’d happily pay for a tank of gas. Please.”

“Great! Let’s do it, then.”

They stand together for a moment, each in position with the Saab poised at the top of the exit. It’s a bit of an incline so they can get up a little speed if they run. They turn their heads from side to side in unison checking for traffic, since they’ll only get one shot at it. The Stop-N-Go is just across the street, but it’s four lanes of traffic and this road—no longer the expressway it was before the interstate came through—still gets a lot of truck traffic. The girl stands at the driver’s door, able to push for a second before jumping inside. The man is ready at the rear of the vehicle, hunched over with his sleeves rolled up. His mind is racing as he notices she possesses those two dimples that some women have just above their ass, like soft thumb impressions in children’s clay. There’s the edge of a tattoo there as well, just the hint of a cross or the like, but he can’t fully make it out. He hadn’t noticed it when he was watching her dance. Shaking his head, he snaps back to the job at hand and waits for her signal.