A dissatisfied customer

An old man drops a night worker back to her workspace beneath a streetlamp. She stands a little way away from its direct beam.
She says to him: it's not my fault.
He says he wants his money back.
She says no and walks two paces away.
He drives around a corner only to return on foot, presently. He stands beside her facing outwards like two suspects in a line-up on a deserted street of flitting shadows.
She says go away. He says he wants his money back. Neither looks at the other.
She calls him Frank to get his attention. If he did not avail of all on offer, then the fault is his.
He wants his money back, in cash. His height reaches only to his companion's shoulder. So, she pretends not to see him.
It begins to rain and Frank walks away, only to return in his little car. He parks between the worker and the road and any passing clientele.
She steps around the car in tottering heels and taps on the driver's window.
Frank rolls it down in joyful anticipation.
Instead, she leans in to remove the keys from the ignition.
She drops them into a storm drain and hails a passing taxi.
Frank remains where he is.
Wondering.
Storytelling here