Like an itch in the palms of her hands, she pauses; looks at the dent, then walks away. Maybe it reminded her of something, an accident of some sort. But, as you take a closer look, there are no residual paint left from another car, just a dent, that dent, close to the door handle. And, as the driver walks away, her left fist loosens.
“DESERTING THIS DAY OF HURT”
Copyright © 2016 Annmarie Deen & David Alexian
All rights reserved.