Member-only story
pretty like pearls
forks like phoenix
Mr. Corvette was an outsider.
He saw her at 10 p.m standing alone in the parking lot.
Is there anywhere I can take you?
They left at eleven.
A run at a pool hall. A change for gas. Booth at a diner.
Girl looked tired, the waitress said. Tired and hungry.
It was twelve.
The top down on the ’72 Stingray. The heavens stretched wide above them, her graceful hands covering them in infinite darkness. Theirs was the only vehicle on the road.
The Corvette drifted in and out and over the dotted lines.
She leaned back. Her eyes fluttered open. Her hair trailed in the wind.
They parked at his trailer.
He walked to the passenger side and bent over to pick her up.
He remembered thinking it strange she was awake.
She smiled.
What struck him was not the sharpness of her fangs — it was everything else he thought of during.
His body crumpled in the shadows. She stood over him.
There were a few vanities in the glove box. Gum. A few dollars. Expired license.
She took what she could and left.
The night kept silent and watched them both.
