She was gangly. I was early. While I waited, sipping my cappuccino in a corner, I watched her. Except for one tangled strand at her temple, her thin yellow hair was pulled tightly to a bun on the top her head. The loose strand was hot pink. Piercings filled with metal ran up and down her ears. Her jeans were like tights.
She went outside to smoke a cigarette; icy air blasted the store as she went.
I shivered and shook my head: she was all of about sixteen. Continue reading