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Tuesday, January 3, 2012

"Isadora DayStar" by P.I. Barrington

Isadora is released from jail:

The guard stood back allowing her a wide berth to make her way to the exit. She stood on the stairs of the building portico, shrugging on her jacket slowly, trying to avoid aggravating the countless bruises covering her. Isadora's lower lip was split in three different places and she had two major black eyes beginning to swell shut. She slung her bag over her shoulder carefully and looked around realizing she had no idea where she was or which direction led back to neighborhood of the assassins' bar. It wasn't the best neighborhood in the city but at least people didn't openly try to murder her there.  A patrol cop leaned against the wall, smoking a contraband cigarette and watching her.
"Um, which way is Metro? I don't know where I am." She said.
"That way – due west." He nodded toward the lowering sun's last dirty brown-red beams. "You want a ride?" He flicked the butt with his middle finger and thumb and it arced shooting sparks onto the cement ground like a meteor shower. He kicked off the wall and stood waiting.
Isadora swallowed. She wanted nothing more than a ride out of hell at that moment but she'd just learned another hard lesson about trusting strangers blindly. She shook her head.

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