#198

without asking, she rolled down the window. heavy city air whipped in, forcing her green eyes shut. for a moment, her visage consisted of only smudged blue eyeliner and a pair of thin red lips poking out under a tangled brown mane of hair. "oh i love this city" she sighed aloud. he'd driven these streets long enough to know that just because the words were in the air, it didn't mean they were directed to him.
each word came out quickly, she reached in her purse, then hands to hair, to window, back to her lap suddenly, as if every movement time-sensitive.
he thought of telling her to roll up the window, but something of the laughlines around her mouth made him stop. shifting her weight to face the window, her sleeve moved to reveal a small tattoo. it was a flag of a country in chaos. he wondered why this city deserved her love, why she gave it when she seemed so free and it felt so weighted. she made him think of guns and of his son, learning to use them against other men's sons. he thought of hope and despair and wondered which she held more of. maybe, for her, every moment felt temporary, every movement so near her last.