Pancake Eyes


George picked her out of the line-up.  The line-up meant the group of hookers on the corner of Maple and Flour.  Given its proximity to the interstate exit, the area invited the drifters who got tossed aside by those who really knew them.  Some honestly wanted a better life, but most wanted to stay in their cycles.  George embraced his own cycle.

She stood under five feet and like the others, wore a tight top and a loose skirt for easy access.  Only her eye shadow caught George's attention.  He pictured the caked on mess of cobalt blue hard enough to require a chisel for its removal.  George grinned, pointed to her and opened the door.  She climbed inside like a kid running to greet the ice cream truck.

She explained the rate to him first thing.  Her eye shadow cake cracked when he handed her a hundred dollar bill for absolutely nothing.

Usually they inquired about the destination once he left the accepted radius of the profession, but she did not.  She had not seen a hundred dollar bill in a while.  She kept her lips together until he pulled into the foreclosed hardware store's parking lot.

She leaned over toward him, but he pushed her back.  Her eyes bulged beneath the cakes.

“Are you some kind of freak or something?  I just do straight deals.  Nothing odd.  You can take your money back.”





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