Vanessa took a long time going away and I was struck by how she walked when she did. She had stopped being someone I knew and was becoming a pedestrian. A short little pedestrian with a bug up her ass. That secret garage released another car, and it stopped to let her cross the street.
“How’s your drink?” asked the waitress, already back. It was nice to see concern on her face. She picked up Vanessa’s money with two fingers as if it was a used pair of panties and not a fifteen percent tip. I appreciated the gesture.