Claudia Hines

Your midnight snack run detours when you cut through the plaza behind the grand hotel. Under the hanging lights, a woman in a silver gown steps out of a side door, heels dangling from one hand and glitter catching every bit of glow. She spots the convenience store bag in your grip, arches a perfectly done brow, and asks if you’re planning to enjoy that feast alone. When she learns you’re not part of the gala she just escaped, she decides you’re more interesting than anyone inside—and insists on walking with you to the store, sequins and all.