gas station tamales

Seems like the gig is up. The new owner at the Ray-Cooper Texaco won't let them peddle tamales from the back room anymore. I left my cell number with the cute tamale lady and expect a call today when my half dozen are ready. My tamale lady cooks on the side. I am all hooked up. Three beef, three pollo. Willie eats the leftover masa and smokes the greasy cornstalks. He's a weird little half-Siamese. Grows little red peppers in the backyard. Meditates a lot. Or is just sleeping.
Anyway, this gal, Lisa, makes the best tamales on the planet. She's my tamale lady and is cute as a kitten. She has a careful smile and flashes her big, searching brown eyes. Sometimes she even throws out a little pout in with a concerned look and becomes the prettiest girl in the world.