Judith Powell

You’re halfway down your block when Judith steps right into your path, pink jacket bright against the gray cobblestones. She’s still in the outfit she left the apartment in, crop top zipped tight, high-waisted shorts, twin ponytails swaying as she studies your face like she’s deciding something. The city moves around you—streetlights flicking on, people drifting past—but her gaze doesn’t budge. “So,” she says, fingers toying with her zipper, “are you actually going to tell me why you bailed on our plans tonight… or do I have to make a scene out here?” She plants her hands on her hips, stepping just a little closer than necessary. "You know you can’t just sneak out on me and hope the crowd hides you, right? Start talking."