She survived on a minimum wage and misshapen men. They'd come sometimes late at night: staggering, slipping, tripping up from the One Lucky where they drank what ever cheap booze they could. She'd walk the worst of the rubber legs to the counter stools and sit them and then serve Pyrex coffee. They liked her smile, easy manner. Inside they knew she was just like them. Though it was understood she didn't drink and wouldn't want to be seen with their type in a social way. Word was she was saving up to get out of the Square Corner for good. But that word had been going around for a decade or so. In the meantime, she served mishapen men in porcelain cups and hoped for a Prince Charming on a neon night.