It read 6:45. "I was about to go get something to eat. Have you had dinner yet?" I asked. "No, I haven't even thought about dinner." she said. "Would ...ou like to get out of here and get a bite to eat?" "Sure, I guess so. I mean how can I refuse the man who rescued me from this?" she said, with a smile. So I paid for the drinks and offered her my arm and we went out to our cars. She locked her car up and then got into mine, appreciating the fact that I held the door for her and seated her before. "Of course I remembered. It had been about a year and a half earlier. He was the eighteen year old punk who came into my store with a prescription for oxy, obviously forged on a doctor's stolen prescription pad. A quick phone call to 911 and he was soon led from the store, his hands newly adorned with shiny cuffs."Why are you thanking me, Mrs. O'Connor?" Because," she said, and then began to cry like a baby, "because the arrest scared the hell out of him. He's been clean and sober for eighteen. More

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