Chicago. Jakob rips a sugar pack, motions for coffee. Ginny lights a smoke. The Golden Apple stays open all night. Drunk kids hungry for hobo skillets and chicken fried steak fill the place from last call through sunrise; Jakob and Ginny, no different. Red-haired Virginia’s rocking rockabilly, cute as can be in green gingham. Jakob bends his billfold, reckons the check. For this girl, he tries to muster smart-seeming talk about the future, a gambit. I’m good with my hands, he says. My uncle’s in construction. Ginny leans forward, ashes in his cup. Not another word from you but kisses.