4 AM. an empty, rusty gas station nearly flooding with rainwater. @allodds
a knock on a stranger's window car; the same practiced smile, sweet & lip gloss shiny, despite the rain punching down on her back as she leans forward. it takes a moment for her eyes to paint more than a shadow, but once they do, "ah," the smile grows larger, recognition painted in the dimples that appear with it.
lady in white, half omen in the rainstorm, a bit of a cliché but she likes the carefree look it gives her. as for him: journalist professor relic of another time. she likes the glasses, though. "mista murphy. didya get my letter? tha' why yer here?" she wasn't sure he'd get the clues hidden in the six-page essay she wrote him with a pink glitter pen; she hoped, of course, but considering the stupid conclusions he has already wasted so much ink on… she wasn't exactly holding her breath.
"well, eitha way. now tha' yer here, come inside", an invitation; a threat; something delicious and forbidden. she taps the palm of her hand against the top of his car, once, the bam! of it barely loud enough to be separated from the awful tumult of the skies breaking open. a second later, she's nothing but a disappearing sight walking toward the abandoned gas station.
