No offence, I hope. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. "I am, Charcoal. . ” “Got a photograph of him or anything?” said Ann Veronica, after kissing her mother. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. \"I've got some chores to do and I usually cook dinner on weeknights.
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