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Shit! Susan tore up the pari-mutual tickets and tossed them on the ground. She had been so sure that Indian Fog was going to win that she had bet her last $200 on the horse. Dead last for Christ's sake! The goddamn glue bag had come in dead last. At 7 to 1 she would have been sitting pretty, but now she was in deep trouble. The money she'd just lost was the week's grocery money. The cupboards were bare when her husband had gone for a snack and he had given her $300 to stock the shelves. When he got home tonight he was going to expect to see something and there was no way she was going to be able to explain that she'd lost the money at the track. "What the hell am I going to do?" she asked herself. She had borrowed money from everyone she knew to support her gambling habit and now even her own mother was refusing to help her. To make things even worse she owed her bookie $1800 and for three weeks now she had been promising him that she would pay up; he was beginning to lose his patience and was starting to make threatening noises.

A sudden sharp cry brought her attention back to the present; she looked down and saw that little Andy had spit out his pacifier. Sweet Jesus, she had forgotten that she had him with her. She put his pacifier back in his mouth, rearranged his blankets, and started pushing his stroller toward the exit. She heard a 'wolf whistle' and turned her head to see two young men watching her with apparent interest. "Asshole" she thought, "I'm a young mother pushing her baby in a stroller, not a goddamn hooker looking to get laid." Susan continued on toward the ...

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