We found ourselves bundled comfortably on what I suspect is the world's oldest couch. Only one light shines on the scene. An older man sits across from us, silent and judgmental at the same time. His face is obscured by the smoke of his cigar. In one cupped hand he holds a piece of metal twisted almost beyond recognition. I can tell it is the remains of an RC car.
My guest stares at the hand blatantly, and finally I slap him to get him to stop.
"You could have just asked," he said, rubbing his jaw.
"I don't believe in asking," I shoot back, not taking my eyes off the tiny car.
A half minute more of silence, and then:
"Whaddaya wan' wit me, huh?" A smoky voice comes from the billowing cloud. "Not jus' anyone cin find dis address."
"I'm not just anyone, sir," I say under an arched eyebrow.
"I remember who y'are, girl," the elderly man says.
"I remember what you can do," I say, raising my chin.
"What is going on here?" my guest asks quizzically.
"Shut up," I hiss through the side of my mouth.