I was sitting outside the grocery store chugging my beer when she showed up. Skinny, dirty face and pesky. She had this thing to whip her shabby brandy-colored hair. Blinking her blue eyes with long lashes.
"Shoo, go away", I yelled at her and swung my bottle.
She shrieked and pretended she is hiding behind crates of nectarines. Then she sneaked back, snuggling up to my leg.
"Can I be yours?" she asked.
"No you can't" I smirked.
Where did she get those heavy boots and those purple socks. With that short leather jacket and punk tshirt she looked like poorly written character from an urban story.
"You like me?" she smiled and whipped lock of her hair away.
I almost chocked, spitting a bit of beer foam.
"Are you crazy, you want me arrested? Go away."
"Then take me with you."
I didn't reply. After few slow long sad blinks, she just hugged her knees. I shook my head. How people can be this cruel, I'll never understand. They write a story, then kick her out in the street, they don't care where and how she's going to end up. Man without a story, that's fine, but story without a writer, that's so fucking sad. When will this government do something, where the hell was Literary Police?
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