"What do you want?" Penny doesn't snap the question; it's not soaked in her usual hostility. She appreciates the attention, as long as it's this fawning. She settles back into her chair and takes another ship of her coffee.

(She won't remember Harley's name in twenty minutes).

A squirrel runs across the trail and picks at some of the birdseed. Penny watches it from hooded, dark eyes.