truancy

The blinking red light above the rail shack was slow... like a sleeping pulse. Lucy ripped at the already frayed napkin in her lap. It had started to rain but she sat under shelter. The drumstick rain on the tin awning layed a rhythm she knew but couldn't place. Even the last drops of coffee were missing from her paper cup. The train only comes through Billings Pointe twice a week: 11:35 AM on Mondays and 2:40 Pm on Fridays. It was 3:22 but it didn't feel like Friday. Why was there so much dirt in her life? How come this stiff rain wouldn't wash it all away? And why wasn't David here yet?

vikingo