<span style="font-weight: bold">Samantha Belweather</span><br/><br/>"That's... fine," Samantha replies, and you can hear the hesitation as she weighs whether to say more. "Are you<span style="font-style: italic">sure</span>you wouldn't rather take me someplace nicer?" She asks.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Narrator</span><br/><br/>The only<span style="font-style: italic">nicer</span>restaurant in Stockton caters to men and vorish women both. It's a forty-minute drive to Flushing, but they do have at least<span style="font-style: italic">one</span>high-class joint where men<span style="font-style: italic">aren't</span>on the menu. Assuming you can get a table at either place, or even wish to try... after all, Samantha<span style="font-style: italic">did</span>say it was fine.