A Doorway

Pink painting no 1 - Virginia Verran

Your votes are in, and the result is:

He speaks to the girl.

New to the game? Read Part 1 here.


Part 2 – A Doorway

He stepped up out of the gutter onto the footpath, and ran his hand through his wet curly hair.

“Nice sandwich?” he asked the girl standing in the doorway.

She finished chewing and swallowed.

“Bit dry,” she said. She looked back out at the slick road. “It’s the only thing that is.”

In the darkness of the doorway her hat was a bright smudge of red. A droplet from the eaves plopped onto her shoulder. She finished her sandwich, scrunched up the packaging into a small ball and put it carefully into her satchel.

“Do you always watch people eating sandwiches?” she asked, looking directly at him.

“No,” he said. “I was just parking my car.”

“Careful. Looks like your seats are getting wet.”

He glanced back at the car. The driver-side door was still open. He hadn’t yet paid for his parking. He had, he knew, exactly 6 pounds in change in his pocket, enough for two hours. That would be just long enough to pop into the party, be seen, make the rounds and dash out again, home by 11 at the latest with a glass of red wine and an episode of Game of Thrones. Or he could give the 6 pounds to this girl, risk embarrassing her. She may not need it at all. Or he could even skip the party altogether. His thoughts flickered around, not sticking to anything.

She pulled her woolly hat down at the back of her neck and stepped down out of the doorway onto the footpath. Her boots, normally so reliable, were feeling damp on the inside and now some stranger was talking to her. Was it too much to ask for a dry place to eat without complications?

“Hey,” he said, suddenly deciding. “Do you want – ”

***

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Nat Newman

Nat Newman is an award-winning writer of short stories, content, podcasts, feature articles, drunk text messages and, soon, a novella.

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