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.