It was a wet winter evening. I stood under the bus stop shelter while the rain tapped on the clear sides. A car stopped. A middle-aged man called out through the open window.
“How much?”
“Twenty dollars to the next stop. Fifty across town.”
The lock clicked. I opened the door, slid inside.
“You’re a cheap whore. You know that.”
I laughed. “And you’re a cheap trick.”
As his hand slid up my thigh, I heard my phone ring.
“Damn. That’s the sitter. We need to get home.”
My husband sighed and drove us home through the rain.
