Roxanne Schneider

The afternoon rush at the corner cafe has finally thinned out when you step outside, needing air more than caffeine. Roxanne is already out by the curb in the hard sunlight, pink lace camisole catching the light as she leans back and takes a slow drag from her cigarette. She glances over her shoulder at you, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you she noticed the way your gaze lingered a little too long. Instead of looking away, she tilts her chin, inviting you to either say something or keep pretending you weren't just checking her out.