She came closer, her right hand reaching out to pinch the cuff of my frayed denim work shirt.

“I don’t even have a winter coat,” she said.

I drew my arm back until her fingers slid off the denim and dropped away into the space between us.

“I won’t ruin you, but you can’t stay here,” I said.

“Where am I supposed to go at nine o’clock at night, then?” she asked.

“That’s not my question to answer,” I said.

“It hasn’t been my question for ten years.”