"Veal parmesan in a road house?," the kid shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think so. Gimme a burger and some fries--and don't put gravy on the damned fries."

"We don't put gravy on fries," Rita (for that was the name sewn above her left breast) said. "I've never heard of anybody putting gravy on their fries." She looked at the kid strangely for a bit, then offered, "You can have catsup if you want, hon. And anything to drink?"

The kid looked at the ten dollar bill under the table, then fished around in his pocket and came up with a couple of ones. "Nah," he said. "Just icewater. And can I have a couple of lemon slices?"

Rita thought a moment. "Oh, what the hell?" she muttered and went back to the counter and handed the order through the window to the kitchen. Then she brought the water and lemon. She stood and watched him as he squeesed the lemon into the icewater and stirred in some sugar. "Do you play that guitar," she asked.

"Nah," he said. "I'm just lookin' for a pawn shop."

"Really?" she asked. "Oh, heck. it was a stupid question, wasn't it?"

"That's okay?" he responded. "I hear it all the time. Ya think anyone would mind if--after I eat--I sit out in front and play and sing a bit? I can usually catch a ride with a trucker, sometimes make a buck or two."

"I don't think the boss would like it," she said. "But he ain't here tonight. Just me and the cook. Just don't do it right next to the door." She grinned, a bit dreamily. "Maybe, since it's so slow in here..." she paused, thinking about it. "Maybe I can come out and listen a bit."

L"Cheeseburger and fries," the cook called out, and Rita went to get them. When she placed them in front of him, she asked, "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

"Billy," he answered.

"Billy? Hi, Billy." She patted him on the shoulder. "Billy what?"

"Just Billy. When I get a gig I'm Billy the Kid."

It took Billy about five minutes to wolf down his meal and drink the lemonade, then he waved to Rita on the way out. He squeezed out the door between his guitar and...