Rainy Date

Kylie stepped out of the hair salon and under the awning over the door. The rain, which had been a light drizzle when she went into the salon, was now falling so heavily that it blurred the lights running along the street. Gritting her teeth, Kylie pulled her pink umbrella out of her Louis Vuitton handbag and struggled with the small button. A chipped thumbnail and several curse words later, the umbrella popped open. Kylie stepped out onto the street.

Brushing her freshly-permed hair out of her eyes, she checked the time on her iPhone. 5:43. Two minutes until she was supposed to meet David. That’s the last time I go to that hair stylist.

Kylie walked faster, heels dully clicking on the drenched sidewalk. The restaurant was a good eight minutes away walking, and she had taken the bus to the salon.  She had wanted to exercise more.  Stupid, stupid.

Three minutes later, she stood at a street crossing, glaring at the fuzzy red hand across the street. As she punched the button to make it green, she happened to look behind her. An old man—no, he couldn’t have been more than thirty—huddled next to one of the shops in ripped jeans and a shirt so soaked that it was nearly transparent. Kylie looked away quickly.

The hand changed to a green man, but Kylie hesitated a few seconds before crossing. When she did, her head was bowed and she stepped in a particularly large puddle, splashing her leg with muddy water, but didn’t notice. She was toying with the handle of her umbrella.

She was halfway down the block when she looked back. She could just make out the red hand again.

I’ll be even later and soaked through.

It’s just makeup and hairspray.

She turned around.