Chapter 1.3

At the moment, Ralph's handsome face was drawn with worry. The damn car was out of gas, and that put the driver on the hook. He shot a frustrated sideways glance through the open passenger window on his right. Twenty feet away stood a man holding a paintbrush, facing a woman with her lithe back arching toward Ralph. The woman said something to the man, and they both laughed. She wore scanty white shorts and her wavy blond hair plunged down toward her narrow waist like a gold-plated waterfall. Her hips were curvaceous, her legs long, and Ralph thought she really filled out those shorts. She turned suddenly, caught Ralph staring at her indecent behind, and smiled seductively. The woman was a Van Buren Street prostitute. She knew all types of men - and was weary of all types. Still, as she studied this fine young specimen now blushing in his car seat, she couldn't help thinking how great he looked. Experience told her he probably had too much going to make a good prospect. Ralph was surprised to see someone like her out this early.

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