photo by Clem Onojehungo via Unsplash
She’s looks like someone from the past – tailored jacket open to reveal the feathered skin at her neck, gloved hand resting on the Chevy’s tailgate like an invitation but to something I don’t know yet.
There’s a smile as I pass, small, shy. I smile back, though I snap it off quickly as she’s a stranger and I’m not meant to.
A few more steps and I would have been gone, her smile drowned in the schoolyard’s buzz. ‘Hey,’ she calls and I turn. She’s smiling properly now and laying in the palm of her glove is a golden key.