“I'm looking for a girl,” said Parker. She smirked at him. “What do you think I am, big boy—a watermelon?” Parker picked up his beer glass, looking at the cool wet ring it left on the bar. “I'm looking for a particular girl,” he said. She arched a brow. She plucked her eyebrows and painted on new ones, in the wrong place, so that when she arched a brow it came out wrong, like a badly animated cartoon. “A hustler? I don't know them all, baby.”
