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Here, cat." She kept it up until a bumpy-skinned

boy came forward dangling an old tom by the scruff of its neck: "You wants a nice kitty, miss? Gimme a

dollar."

The limousine had followed us. Now Holly let me steer her toward it. At the door, she hesitated; she

looked past me, past the boy still offering his cat ("Haifa dollar. Two-bits, maybe? Two-bits, it ain't

much"), and she shuddered, she had to grip my arm to stand up: "Oh, Jesus God. We did belong to each

other. He was mine."

Then I made her a promise, I said I'd come back and find her cat: "I'll take care of him, too. I promise."

She smiled: that cheerless new pinch of a smile. "But what about me?" she said, whispered, and shivered

again. "I'm very scared, Buster. Yes, at last. Because it could go on forever. Not knowing what's yours

until you've thrown it away. The mean reds, they're nothing. The fat woman, she nothing. This, though: my

mouth's so dry, if my life depended on it I couldn't spit." She stepped in the car, sank in the seat. "Sorry,

driver. Let's go."

again. "I'm very scared, Buster. Yes, at last. Because it could go on forever. Not knowing what's yours

until you've thrown it away. The mean reds, they're nothing. The fat woman, she nothing. This, though: my

mouth's so dry, if my life depended on it I couldn't spit." She stepped in the car, sank in the seat. "Sorry,

driver. Let's go."

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