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The atmosphere was still tense, but as long as Junior kept his distance- and as long as Evan and Kyle kept flirting with her, she felt a kind of uneasy happiness.The heavy wooden front door scraped open again. In walked a skinny girl in a too-tight, too-short denim skirt and plunging black tank top and the same high-heeled, peep-toe, pink espadrilles that Becca had seen bobbing above John Junior’s head earlier that day. Justine Foley spotted Becca behind the bar, smiled mid-gum-chomp and waved with both hands as she headed for John Junior’s table.What... The… Fuck......whatthefuck, whatthefuck, whatthefuck… Becca turned and gripped the back counter, rattling a few bottles of bourbon, repeating the mantra to keep from throwing up. She looked at her face in the mirror behind the bar and saw a crumbling mess about to burst into tears. And beyond, the reflection of Junior and Justine sitting together, laughing together, him feeding her cold French fries and her acting like it was some. Enraptured in the fair mysticism they seemed to offer, she allowed they did harbor some unknown wisdom, and smiled up at them with a child’s wonder, imagining if she stood there long enough beneath the beaming orbs of their mock light, they might just tell her all they knew. ————————————————– With the encroaching darkness of the night, had come a sudden wind, driven from the north and bitterly cold. The girl was not generally superstitious, but something in the rising wind unsettled her. Something sinister was carried on its’ haunches, some unnamed evil of the night, armed with the ability to freeze the air and blacken the stars. It had been that wind that had woken her, shaken her violently from the trance-like peace of her reverie and wrapped her in its cold arms, surrounding her with an uneasy sense of forboding. The streets had all but emptied. It was late and cold and she felt now, with some degree of certainty, that she was somehow very lost. ————————————————– From a quiet.
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