The girl over at the dime machine called, “Oh, I must have broken something.”
Her eyes shifted over toward me, but the other chap was nearest. He beat me to it. “What’s the matter?”
She said, “I dropped a dime in the machine. And I guess I must have broken something. Dimes spilled out over everything — all over the floor.”
He laughed easily, and moved over toward her. I noticed particularly the broad, supple shoulders, the straight line of his back, and the thin waist and narrow hips.
“You didn’t break the machine — not yet. But if you keep on being lucky, maybe you will. Ion just won a jackpot.”
He glanced over at me, and winked.
“Wish she’d show me how it’s done,” I said.
She laughed uncertainly.
The young chap got down on his hands and knees, picked up a couple of dozen dimes, scooped a handful out of the cup, arid said, “Now, let’s make certain there aren’t any back up in there.”
His fingers explored the cup.