silver jean

Glaze extended as far as the eye could see. She walked, placing one foot in front of the other, right down the middle of the road. At the end of the block she looked both ways. A passing man hollered, "Looking good!" She ducked her head and stepped onto the sidewalk. A pack of dogs cavorted in the field beyond the hedgerow. The sound of ice cracking in the trees passed like gunshots through the air. The rubber soles of her shoes made no sound. At the next corner she halted. The bus stop sign leaned warily over her, its blue face smeared with arcane symbols spray-painted in the dead of night. It did not inspire confidence. But she folded her hands and set to waiting.