Adam was a familiar sight by now. I waved to Mrs. Flores behind the counter.“Where’s Walker?”“Upstairs, probably getting into trouble.”“No... that angel.”Ho.I looked through the diamond-shaped window before exiting to the alley. A habit dating back to my Greta Gunther days. Adam stared at the steel door as if he could see through it.In the alley, Adam and I did our usual 180, looking to our left — south toward Union Station. Straight ahead, the parking garage. Right — north, downtown. All. " I hope you know what you're doing."But we didn't have any choice. Streetwalking in Minneapolis is a bad way to make a living in late November, and I was too busy anyhow. I had been practically virginal since the crackhouse debacle, and I didn't relish my first experience to be under a jackbooted slave master. Rick and Randy really deserved to have me first. They had been so nice to me after my surgery: carrying my books to class in the first weeks when I was too weak to carry them; bringing. More

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