She stops, her back to me, and hugs herself. Her thin arms fit snugly under her armpits, wrists bent. She stands like that for several seconds. I wait for her decision somewhat impatiently - the droning sound of the rain drilling into the sidewalk and asphalt around us is giving me a headache and making me cold. She turns suddenly.
"Into town. Take me into town. Anywhere." When I look at her doubtfully, at the state she was in, the bright hopefulness in her eyes sinks. "Please?" she pleads. After a moment of brief deliberation that really turned one-sided as she brings out the puppy-dog eyes, I acquiesce and nod.
With quick, short steps she nips around my car to the passenger side and opens the door. She slides gracefully into the seat, all neatly folding limbs placed just so. I get back into the car clumsily by comparison, dragging the safety belt over my chest and hearing it click in the buckle. I sigh... and look to the woman. Staring out the windshield, arms drawn across her waist, leaving her own belt undone. Her hair is creating a dark spot on the headrest behind her, though she smells strongly of chlorine and I doubted that it was just the rain that had gotten to her.
"Do you swim regularly?" I ask, kicking myself mentally as I hear the banal question dwindle in the air. She looks sidelong at me, uninterested, then back to staring out the window. Gray streets passing us by, people with drably-colored umbrellas hurrying along to their own destinations, speeding along past us as we drove to ours.
"I like the water." She avoids the question. "I like the water and I like people-watching. So do you, I imagine."
I look ahead, keeping my eyes on the road. "I don't." I keep my answer short, I keep it unclear as to which part of her statement I agreed or disagreed with. I'm not sure I feel safe sharing information about myself with this woman. She's... sharp. Cunning. Paranoid. I'm afraid of saying something she might take the wrong way or use against me somehow, later on. Then... maybe I'm the one who's paranoid.
We are soon snarled in the downtown traffic, me growing frustrated looking for a parking space among cars and people running about, more than a few suddenly stopping in front of my car so suddenly I had to break and wait for them to get out of the way. I failed to find a space, and she decides to take a chance at a red light. She moves and opens her passenger door.
"Bye, Gabriel. Thanks for the lift." With that she's gone, walking unhurriedly into the crowds of shoppers and teenagers milling about aimlessly. I watch her retreating figure enter a store, the sign above it concealed by a large, overhanging tree.
Then the light changes, and I have to go.
"Into town. Take me into town. Anywhere." When I look at her doubtfully, at the state she was in, the bright hopefulness in her eyes sinks. "Please?" she pleads. After a moment of brief deliberation that really turned one-sided as she brings out the puppy-dog eyes, I acquiesce and nod.
With quick, short steps she nips around my car to the passenger side and opens the door. She slides gracefully into the seat, all neatly folding limbs placed just so. I get back into the car clumsily by comparison, dragging the safety belt over my chest and hearing it click in the buckle. I sigh... and look to the woman. Staring out the windshield, arms drawn across her waist, leaving her own belt undone. Her hair is creating a dark spot on the headrest behind her, though she smells strongly of chlorine and I doubted that it was just the rain that had gotten to her.
"Do you swim regularly?" I ask, kicking myself mentally as I hear the banal question dwindle in the air. She looks sidelong at me, uninterested, then back to staring out the window. Gray streets passing us by, people with drably-colored umbrellas hurrying along to their own destinations, speeding along past us as we drove to ours.
"I like the water." She avoids the question. "I like the water and I like people-watching. So do you, I imagine."
I look ahead, keeping my eyes on the road. "I don't." I keep my answer short, I keep it unclear as to which part of her statement I agreed or disagreed with. I'm not sure I feel safe sharing information about myself with this woman. She's... sharp. Cunning. Paranoid. I'm afraid of saying something she might take the wrong way or use against me somehow, later on. Then... maybe I'm the one who's paranoid.
We are soon snarled in the downtown traffic, me growing frustrated looking for a parking space among cars and people running about, more than a few suddenly stopping in front of my car so suddenly I had to break and wait for them to get out of the way. I failed to find a space, and she decides to take a chance at a red light. She moves and opens her passenger door.
"Bye, Gabriel. Thanks for the lift." With that she's gone, walking unhurriedly into the crowds of shoppers and teenagers milling about aimlessly. I watch her retreating figure enter a store, the sign above it concealed by a large, overhanging tree.
Then the light changes, and I have to go.
