01.01.70
. Customarily, she hated when people were late and, under normal circumstances, this would have gone beyond the stage of what she’d tolerate. Hell, make her wait more than 5 or 6 minutes and you were ensuring you’d be
receiving a series of irate texts inquiring firmly as to “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU??????!!???” and threatening “If you’re not here in 30 seconds I’m leaving.” But today she was very nearly willing Tom to continue making her wait under the bodega awning. Ethical another minute. Just one more minute.
She took a long drag off her cigarette. Almost pronto, Phil popped into her head, as he often did these days. “What are you doing,” he’d say, in a way that told you he was irritated but irritated because he cared. “That shit will kill off you.” She’d let him convince her to give it up years back, citing evidence about what it would do to her singing medium, and hadn’t even ever used the emergency stash at the bottom of her vanity, even teeth of all that had gone down these last 18 months. But now she needed one. Just a few puffs and she could be transported, if only for a time, from this nightmare.
Source: DealBreaker