"Yeah, okay. Somewhere public," she adds. He probably doesn't need to be told that, but she doesn't want him coming back and announcing that they're meeting the guy in his apartment building.

And of course he needs quarters. She huffs out a quiet sigh as she reaches for her own jeans, folded on a nearby chair, and rummages through the pockets. There's not much stopping her from continuing to obtain money the same way they have so far, and getting a legitimate job isn't going to be easy without I.D. - or proof of any kind that she's even a U.S. citizen (or a citizen of anywhere in this universe). Maybe she should get a guitar and start busking for some comparatively honest cash.

"Here," she says, fishing out a dollar's worth of quarters and passing them over.