She sits at the grey counter with her bag on her lap. Hot Sundae licking, the fan over her head blowing warm air into her ears.
A police car pulls up outside in the parking lot. She does not see this but she can hear something. Heavy booted hot gravel.
Waffle barks.
A sudden urge to find a tissue pulls at her sleeve. Cue the endless rabbiting, rummaging noises, flicking aside tampons and old receipts, keys on a rinse cycle jangle and she finally, finally finds that tissue, but has already forgotten her reason for needing it- so she plays with it.
Yes, I'm still waiting for my iced tea. Yes, I'm hot.
If she knew the cop sitting at the end of the formica bar was looking at the grey sweat ring beneath her left armpit she would blow a fuse.
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