girlcontraband
Of what? Dignity? Humility? She couldn't imagine a reason for either and slashed sideways with the keys, digging into the car's cherry finish with an ear-wrenching shriek of metal on metal. Too bad. He should have, she thought, demonstrated restraint.
Polyester itches, but it's one of those things he should have thought about before now. He's left digging one finger under his collar and the tie that took him three attempts to knot correctly, hoping no one questions him. They could have mentioned the elevator, he thinks. Wanted: clean cut, courteous employee. Must bring own Dramamine.
It pools in between her eyes and makes hot trails down the ski slope of her nose. She flicks it away with a nail past needing manicured, and sloppy is second nature these days, isn't it, the way it's so easy to forget meals and makeup and second chances. The way she finds herself perspiring over alibis she should have never needed in the first place.