“I’m at a cafe now, down here in the Fourth Sector. The Tannery on the line. Why don’t you come on down here and take a coffee?”
“I don’t think so, Cpl. Gynous. That’s not my kind of place.”
“Go someplace else?”
[Click]
It’s not this shithole; we’ve hung in seedier joints. The night I took her, in the walk-in, her hand slipped under my peacoat; I heard her gasp as her fingernails scraped the scar tissue on my back. Lucky in firefights, unlucky in love, I mount a tram to Chinatown to peep tonight’s offerings in skinjobs.