I shouldn’t dawdle.
I need to look like I have a goal,
seem to be going somewhere.
As soon as I don’t,
I’m spotted.
Hey, sweetheart, give us a smile.
The man slows his car so he can
follow me.
Wanna lift? Jump in.
I move quicker up the hill.
Where are you going anyway?
Is someone expecting you?
Get in. I don’t bite, sweetheart.
He is stopped by a red light
and I rush
out of sight
down an alleyway,
running, running, running,
until I find the end
and a road I recognise as Marla’s.
A man walking a dog sidesteps me.
A car horn somewhere sounds loudly.