Streetwalker
She hadn’t been
there before. The bright hot wave of the infrared lights basked upon her skin
for the absolute for time. Her toes were cold; her hair sticky from sweat mixed
with hairspray and whatever else that had been floating in the air. She stood
languidly against the slice of brick wall between two bulletproof
floor-to-ceiling windows, waiting for some kind of momentum to push behind her
knees so she would walk.
The glass door eased off its hinges as it sprung open, popping back
to place like a lost vertebrate as an identical pair of young males dragged
each other out, leggings and sneakers woven together as though they were biologically
joined by the hips. Clea watched them in slight illusion as she drew her
fingers to her lips, sucking in at the cigarette she imagined to be there. The
gray puff of breath imploding into the cold air did the trick, spiraling up in
distorted ringlets. The black-legging beauties from indoors were at the second
slice of brick wall, but only halfway. The one with his back to her
had his left leg out against the glass of the window, almost drawn over the
skinny hip of the one topping him as his whimpers rose out into the air in
thin, vibrating clouds.
Clea breathed in and tilted her head, her eyes following a loose
piece of thread as it dangled in the infrared spotlights, red and then white,
red again as it rested down on his black legging. Roles had changed against the
wall; their bodies more against glass than brick as she opened the door and
walked inside.
She glanced at the man by the counter.
Then at the window.
A small, white hand was pressed to the glass, fingers curling slowly
as though trying to grip the bulletproof surface.
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For the
IndieInk Writing
Challenge this week,
Tara Roberts challenged me with "Somewhere over the rainbow" and I challenged
SAMwith "Take the book nearest to you, flip to page 45 and use the first full sentence as your prompt/inspiration for your text".
