I sat alone in the cold car, watching a meter maid write a ticket for a silver sedan on the next block.

My own meter was going to run out in less than ten minutes.

I needed professional legal help to break open the records, and I had absolutely no way to pay for it.

I shoved the wadded bills into my coat pocket and pulled the door handle.

Fifty-four dollars would barely cover a single hour with a real attorney.

I stepped out into the cold air and walked toward the Riverfront Diner.

The neon sign buzzed a dull red against the brick wall.