Alyssa Jordan

iv. Late one night, Fred acted on a whim. She reached out to the one friend who still took her calls.  Together they stood, poised on a street corner with coffee cups in hand. The Friend was tall and blonde and intrigued. Red lipstick lined her mouth, wet like a bloody smear. She held a cigarette in her other hand, taking demure drags that did nothing to distract Fred from the pink smoke that curled around her shoulders. “How about them?” The Friend asked.  When she squinted at the couple heading toward the bus stop, Fred was met with a…