Her lips were yellow, like the sun. She sat, on top of the car, brandishing a whip on one hand, and a pistol on the other. Defiant.
I stare, unaware that my future hangs in the balance. Questions bubbling in my brain at the speed of light. My mouth unable to formulate them coherently.
She springs landing softly on the pavement. I stand my ground, unarmed.
Her face, half covered by overgrown bangs. Mine, curious.
She offers the firearm. I consider my options and reach for the whip. She smiles and quietly walks away.