“Where to?”

She lights a cigarette, pulling a long thick drag behind her french manicure. “Anywhere.” Grins. “Yes, I am that cliché.” He’s young. Alejandro Esperanza his license reads. He still needs a location. Another drag. “O’Hare, I guess.” He glides into the left turn lane.

“You did not love him?” His accent is charming. The rearview is full of billowing white tulle. With her free hand, she’s pulling pins from her hair. A white rose plops in her lap.

“Didn’t show.” She exhales, smoke curling like emancipation. Her veil slips into an accusatory pile on the seat next to her.


~ by ifindthisamusing on June 25, 2008.

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