Red took several more puffs from the cigarette, jigging on his heels.
“There it is,” he said. “I got it.” He laughed uncertainly. “Come over to the Square with me. I know where we can make a couple of bucks.”
“How?” asked Martin before he thought.
“Hustling,” answered Red.
“Hustling what?” insisted Martin, already in.
“Anything from gin to Jesus,” said the boy dreamily. “Or in a pinch, an Old Auntie.”
“No. I’m turning in.” Martin felt suddenly tired.
Around the corner, Red faced him.
“It’s as soft as roses,” he said. “Just as soft as roses.” He walked to the curb, peered over the edge, and stepped carefully across the street.