Street Friend
                                                  By Mark Andrews

     I take another sip from the mug and turn attention to my acquaintance.  "They make a
good cup of tea here."  She smiles.  "Yes, it is my favorite street for working.  When work is
slow, or I get a client, I like to take them here, unless they are in a hurry of course."  I nod in
agreement.
     People shift by us, they are in quite a rush today.  I'm just relieved we found a seat out
here, what with every one around and about.  The caf‚ was pretty much nonexistent when I drove
by it the first time, well every thing was not really registering lately.  Stuck in a dead end job,
marriage wasn't going to well either, hasn't been for a few years now.  That was probably why I
was not as nervous as I could have been upon meeting her twenty minutes ago.  Thought there
was nothing to lose, though I was a little unsure about being with Dee.  That's what she likes to
be addressed as, Dee.  Something that is nice, and not like the other things she has been called.
I'm glad she brought me here, I'm not as nervous around her anymore.  
     We talked about her form of employment, about how she does not want it, and how she
has no choice.
She enjoys my company, and others like me who sit down and talk, and not rush through it.  She
feels less about herself when meeting that type.  We talk some more, about nature, civilization,
and my life. 
      A pause.  "Time to go." she states and stands.  I finish my tea and look to the road, where
my bloody, mangled body is being pried from the wreckage that was my car by fire officials.  The
other driver got away relatively unscathed, he looks quite shaken.  I look back at Dee, her black
robe covering the flesh less bones underneath.  She's staring at me with those empty black eye
sockets.  Her skeletal hand lightly gripping the scythe, the other is held out to me in a comforting
manner.  I take it and walk with my dear friend death to the final destination.