Waiting....

The street glistened wet underfoot, neon signs blazing behind her—Club Carousel, Drugs, bright lights cutting through the dark like knives. She didn’t smile. Her mouth was painted a deep, dark red, set in a line that meant trouble, or secrets, or both. There was something sharp about her, something dangerous—the kind of woman who walked alone after midnight, who knew every shadow, every deal, every lie in this town. You got the feeling she was waiting for someone… She looked like trouble wrapped in silk and shadow, and every woman who passed couldn’t help but glance twice, wondering just what kind of story she carried.