#(except hawk)

     she’s early, on her way from one place to another, wearing a dark evening gown and a thin shawl thrown over the top, more to keep her covered while she’s out and about, than to stave off the cold. she likes the way it bites at her; the cool, midnight air, sinking its claws in. the wind never touches her in her dreams. laura reapplies her lipstick right before she lights a cigarette, and when she sees audrey, offers the open packet. she blows smoke and cold air over the bridge’s railing, out into the nothingness. her voice is low and smooth, already one strong glass of bourbon into the evening,  ‘ do you ever ask yourself why we never became better friends? ’