She hands me the check and another piece of paper. "My number," she says. "I get off by eleven most nights. I don't live far from here so I'm home by midnight at the latest." She grins. "I live alone, so don't worry if you have to call late."

I return her smile, carefully fold her note and place it in my pocket. "My name's Peter," I say. Tonight would not be a good time to take her. But in a few weeks, before she's forgotten me… "Things are difficult now"-I stare into her eyes-"but as soon as I can, I'll call."

Our hands brush when I pay the bill. The warmth of her tempts me. I resist the urge to make plans for later. Too dangerous. As Father always says, what is good will be better later.

Outside, the air smells of night jasmine and car exhaust. Stars crowd a black sky nearly devoid of clouds. Only a yellow sliver of moon breaks the darkness. I wish there was some place to lie down nearby. At home we doze after large meals. I sigh, fight the languor seizing my body and take slow steps away from the restaurant.

The shadows shift at the edge of the parking lot as a man walks out from behind the bushes. "Hey friend," he says, "can you spare a poor guy a few bucks?"

My nose wrinkles. He smells of alcohol, filth and decay. I shake my head and walk on.

"Just a dollar or two…" The man blocks my path. His height almost matches mine and he's quite a bit wider. He holds his right hand clenched at his side.

I grin at him. "I suggest you move out of the way." It's only fair, I think, to give the man a chance.

His eyes go hard. "Hey, mister. I asked nice." A metallic click punctuates his words and he shows the switchblade now extended in his right hand. "Now why don't you make things easy and hand me your money."