"So I gathered."

"I'm a hooker."

I nodded. She straightened in her seat, squared her shoulders, adjusted the fur jacket, opened the clasp at her throat. I caught a trace of her perfume. I'd smelled that spicy scent before but couldn't recall the occasion. I picked up my cup, finished my coffee.

"I want out."

"Of the life?"

She nodded. "I've been doing this for four years. I came here four years ago in July. August, September, October, November. Four years and four months. I'm twenty-three years old. That's young, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't feel so young." She adjusted the jacket again, refastened the clasp. Light glinted off her ring. "When I got off the bus four years ago I had a suitcase in one hand and a denim jacket over my arm. Now I've got this. It's ranch mink."

"It's very becoming."

"I'd trade it for the old denim jacket," she said, "if I could have the years back. No, I wouldn't. Because if I had them back I'd just do the same thing with them, wouldn't I? Oh to be nineteen again and know what I know now, but the only way that could be is if I started tricking at fifteen, and then I'd be dead by now. I'm just rambling. I'm sorry."

"No need."

"I want to get out of the life."

"And do what? Go back to Minnesota?"

" Wisconsin. No, I won't be going back. There's nothing there for me. Just because I want out doesn't mean I have to go back."

"Okay."

"I can make lots of trouble for myself that way. I reduce things to two alternatives, so if A is no good that means I'm stuck with B. But that's not right. There's the whole rest of the alphabet."