There were people standing and eating by the windows, where there was a counter, and brightly colored signs everywhere, advertising the different kinds of fruit drinks you could order. There were paper fruits hanging from the ceiling—apples and pineapples and bananas and oranges dangling over our heads. I’d gone with the same as Cary, a hot dog and a drink. I’d chosen papaya—it seemed like the thing to do—and Cary had gotten pineapple. I was secretly adding up all the money he’d spent on food for me tonight, so that I could Venmo him as soon as I got my hands back on my phone.

“Thanks so much,” I said as I took my hot dog and drink away from the register to the area with extra condiments and napkins. He went right for the mustard dispenser, while I walked up to the ketchup, which is the only acceptable condiment to put on a hot dog. Everyone knows that.

“Ketchup?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Mustard?” I replied, raising one right back at him.

“Yep.”

There was a silence between us, and then I shrugged. “So, this has been fun,” I said, pretending to leave.

Cary laughed and nodded at my hot dog. “What do you think?”

I took a bite, then widened my eyes at him. It might just have been because I’d had nothing to eat since lunch other than two bags of Doritos, but it was the best hot dog I’d ever had. “Oh my god.”

“Right?” he asked happily, taking a bite of his. “I usually stop here either before or after work.”

“Which work? I mean,” I said, swallowing, “you’ve got a lot of jobs to choose from.”

“It’s true,” he said with a grin. “But I meant Maverick.”

“Well, I’m glad that after this you’ll be done for the night.”

He shook his head. “You’d think! But no. I have another job later tonight, but I’ll get a little break first.”

“Your sixth job?” He nodded. “What is that?” I asked, remembering that I still didn’t know. Cary took a breath to answer just as a woman, juggling four hot dogs and two little kids, walked up behind us.

“You done with the ketchup?” she asked, looking aggrieved, and I nodded and stepped out of the way.

“Sorry about that,” I said. Like we’d discussed it ahead of time, we both headed out and started walking down the street, finishing our hot dogs in companionable silence. When I was done, and had thrown out the little paper tray it had come in, I tried my papaya drink—cold and sweet and exactly what I wanted right then. “How’s the pineapple?” I asked, glancing over at Cary.

“Excellent,” he said, with an affirmative nod. “You’ll have to try it next time.”