Pam held herself against the cold. The driving rain stung her face, and the wind knifed mercilessly through her cheap windbreaker. The sign to her left read “Tony’s Place.” This dump – any dump – would do. She pushed open the door.

Inside, all six tables were full, four to a table. There was only one empty space at the bar. She paused to take in the lettering on the second “Tony’s Place” sign. This one looked like a three-year-old’s first attempt at scrawling the alphabet. Over the bar was an odd inscription: Something for nothing is never worth what you pay for it.

Pam snorted. What was that supposed to mean? She no longer cared whether the light at the end of the tunnel was sunshine or a train.