she caught up with him when he was getting off the belt that had taken him back to the shelters.

"there's not much you can say, i suppose," she murmured. "what can you tell a girl when she learns you've stopped just short of killing her?"

he didn't know the answer either.

they walked in silence.

she stopped at her dwelling, but didn't go in. "still, it's an indication of how you felt—that you forgot your own name and took mine." she was smiling now. "i don't see how i can do less for you."

hope stirred and he moved closer. but he didn't speak. she might not mean what he thought she did.

"luis and luise obispo," she said softly. "very little change for me—just add mrs. to it." she was gazing at him with familiar intensity. "do you want to come in?"

she opened the door.

crime was sometimes the road to opportunity, and retrogression could be kind.

—f. l. wallace