A Routine Case

The woman who would later reveal her name to be Dorothy looked up at me through the windscreen like a pouty puppy looking up through a car windscreen. I adjusted my trilby and spat my long-extinguished cigarette out onto the tarmac.

“Hey, ain’t that a bit dangerous?” she said, looking around her like an inquisitive yoghurt. The air moved around her like a confused bumblebee at an Olympic opening ceremony.

“It’s flameless.” I replied, my voice hinting at the burning sensation that this woman was creating within me. Her beautiful brown eye and her beautiful green eye reached into my body like a rubber-gloved surgeon performing a colon inspection, piercing me as if the surgeon had forgotten to put their keys down beforehand.

Something about her was familiar.

“Something about you is familiar.” I said.

Our eyes met for a second. Then she disappeared out of my life in a cloud of tyre smoke, never to be seen again for the next four minutes. I shook my head and went to find a mop to clear up the puddle of petrol on the forecourt.

“What an odd woman.” I said out loud, to no-one in particular.

*Originally posted here*

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