That’s odd, she thought.
In the rearview mirror is the same car as when she pulled out of the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. She contemplates picking up the cell phone in her purse and calling someone but fishes out a Marlboro Ultra Light instead. With her thumb she presses in the car’s lighter and increases the volume of the radio.
A slight cough escapes her lips and she glances again at the mirror. Still there. Click. The lighter pops out and she pulls it close to the end of the cigarette. She considers that she should quit, for what must be the hundredth time today. Oops. It’s already lit, so she shrugs and puffs away. With her left hand she cranks down the window to let the smoke out.
The black mustang rolls along behind her and makes no attempt to disguise that it’s a tail.
She smokes and sings along to Frank Sinatra. Left. Then right. Left again, down the long street that leads to her apartment. It’s nothing special. Just a post war building with little charm, save for the bright and cheery azaleas out front. She pulls into the drive and shuts down the engine. Purse, bag from the grocery, and keys, she takes inventory as she bumps the door closed with a free hip.
The black mustang pulls to the curb and grows quiet. A door opens and shuts.
On the porch she fishes out the house key and pushes on the front door. Inside she puts down the groceries and drops the keys into a dish in the hall. She turns around and finds the man from the black mustang standing inside with her.
“Oh,” is all she says.
* from: "Seventeen scenes from everyday life. And some that are not", a collection of my short stories.
