-Please Don't Go So Fast-
Chapter Seven
[A Second Job]
I know this may sound outta character, but this is how I saw her comin' outta the cab. It was as if she were an angel, her black hair cascading to the middle of her back as she ran her hands through it to smooth it down. Her complexion was pale and dewy, and those eyes. I could look into 'em forever. But there was something about them that disturbed me.
Her skirt was a tad too short considering it was November, and she wasn't wearin' a jacket over her shirt. I was smokin' my cigar that I had stolen on the way home from Brooklyn, as she came up to us. She had salt stains all down her cheek, and then she took the cigar from in my mouth and put it in hers.
"That's my cigar!" I said.
She passed it back, and holdin' back tears she whispered, "Thanks."
Something was wrong with Crutchy, because he gave Mack a quick squeeze, and left without saying anything. She sat down, took my cigar again, and gave it back. On the fire escape, she cuddled close to me, and cried those pretty eyes out. And when I asked her what was wrong, she simply said, "My job kills me too. And tonight, I really didn't want to work."