He stares at me, I can feel it, but I can’t see his eyes in the shadows. He’s big, much bigger than me. He smells of weed and stale body spray mixed with sweat, but right now none of that matters.

I launch into a monologue, telling him my name’s Laine, and how I was out with a stupid friend who took my phone and keys with her when she left. I tell him it’s my birthday, that I’m having the crappiest night of my life and he’d make it just a little bit better if he’d please give me a cigarealizeI realize how stupid I sound, how weak my...