|Admired from Afar
There's a beat up Camaro rumbling in the next lane. Each fender a different shade of primer and its hood visibly vibrating with the syncopated idle of the huge V8 lump underneath.
Behind the wheel, Nora Blaine checks her make up in the rear view mirror as her cell phone sings, "This is Major Tom to ground control..". She glances at the display but doesn't answer it. She seldom does. She has bigger fish to fry and there's no point in wasting her time tossing back every shaker that beaches himself at her pretty, pedicured feet.
Yeah, I know her. She's one hell of a sexy broad with a sway to her hips that would make Darwin proud but I'm staying off the beach tonight. Her taste in men is questionable and I'm about as questionable as a man can get.
77 El Deora