Thursday, June 5, 2008

Drabble: Self-Interest


She was the most beautiful dame I’d seen in this pit of a city, and she was sitting in my office, her legs crossed in a way at once prim and provocative. Her hair was shockingly red, two shades brighter than I thought was possible this deep in the city’s grime.

And she was crying.

"I, I think I need your help," she said. "Please?"

Well, what else could I do?

Exactly what I did do: Kick her out on the curb and have nothing to do with her. I’ve read enough detective novels to know how this turns out.

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