not one of those cheap beer swills, but an uptown kind of joint, where the waitresses have those oil slick black dresses poured on them straight from the crude barrel, and the conversation is more animated than what you get from the reeking stiff passed out on a stool next to you. A little more class than that. She wafts in, like cigarette smoke stirring from a slightly opened door. She's tall and lanky, but silk stocking smooth as she sidles into the booth. I nod. We order drinks. My head has jackhammers beating my brain down into my chest and I stay away from the beer. We order hamburger sandwiches with cheese, french fried potatoes, and extra dill for her. She tells me about the class joints she's been casing, tells me where I can glance the surveillance photos. She tells me there's been a lot of scavenging going on. I'm not sure what take I should have on that, but she flashes those pearly whites and tells me it's all for the good. I don't argue. We're both tired but grab some joe first, hot and black, before we head back out to our rides. I tell her I hope the rest of the pads she's casing are all jake this week and get a quick squeeze from her and another one of those wide smiles before she floats up into her wheels and rolls away. It was just some hamburger and coffee, with some gab about shots taken while nobody's home. I still thought it was swell. I light up a cigarette and watch the taillights fade. Until we meet again sweetheart.