Chapter 31: Bitumehe car woke me from my reveries with a gentle chime. Apparently, we were stopping to recharge its batteries. With a subtle k the doors unlocked. Did I want to step out and stretch my legs, grab a snack, take a piss? Yes. But did I also want to avoid human tact, dressed as I was, safe and isoted in the womb of the car? Also yes.
Sighing, I checked myself in the s and added a dab of lip gloss and opehe door. The heat hit like a wave, as did the full gre of the sun. Goddam Julia for today’s work outfit, suspender belt and stogs, charcoal pencil skirt to the knees, fitted blouse over long-line bra. At least my hair was off my ne a high ponytail, but I’d still be drowning in boob sweat and sagging stogs by the time the car finished charging.
I felt distinctly out of p this rural shithole, the charging station little more than a crete and asphalt ptform with a bank of EV points and a singur petrol pump that probably saw more use arouhan all the other eco-alternatives bined. A narrow bank of yellowing trees lihe road, some slight shelter from the sun, and away from the road stretched a desiccated field of browning crops withering under rusting spraying towers that probably hadn’t seen a drop of water in the past decade. Other than the hum of cicada and passings cars, it was unnervingly quiet. There was also a small shop aaurant, with a pair of cars parked at the side.
Sweat beaded along ned welts and band; makeup wouldn’t survive long out here. The car chimed at me: the rear gently slid open and revealed a small travel bag, and inside a ge of clothes. Smiling gratefully, I grabbed the bag and headed for the restaurant and its toilets. Behihe charging drorundled over, trailing its EV cable.
Heels rang out ingruously as I crossed the ptform. With each step drawing me closer, I pulled back; dy rose to the fore; and I experienced one of those moments again, the strange ftion of physicality aat in which I faded and observed myself—my dy—from without.
The delicate arch of the heels and slight pinch at the toes. A tug with each step, six-taut straps a reminder of that terribly feminine scrap of fabric, the suspender belt and its firm prese her waist. The heat of the sun on hair, cleavage, fshing of bracelets, dangling earrings and nails. Lithe steps, slight wiggle, toss of hair—growing fidenbsp; Nose wrinkling with the acrid bitume of heat baking asphalt spongy.
dy took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
The heat followed her through as the door jingled her arrival to the tired looking waitress rubbing down a chipped ter, both looking as though they belonged in the previous tury. A pair of half-depleted racks held bags of nuts and other snacks. Somebody had clearly had the fht to move the chocote bars into one of the free- standing cooling units, where they sat in an untidy heap surrounded by s of energy drink and bottles of fvoured water. There was a small grill behind the ter, a chilled dispy case holding a few cakes and pieces of pie. Hung from the ceiling, a small desk fan pushed futilely against the oppressive heat.
“e in, darling,” said the waitress. “Grab a seat,” she added, gesturing towards a stool at the ter, “a,” and then towards one of the three tables by the windows. There were two other patrons at a table, a young man and woman hunched over their food, talking quietly and inteo each other, and a younger man at the ter, maybe a teenager, who made no effort to ceal his close study of the newer. dy shivered as his gaze swept up her legs, lingered over her boobs and finally settled o shine of her lips. He grinned.
“It’s okay,” the waitress tinued, “we don’t bite.”
“I might.” The boy grinned and snapped his teeth at dy. “Mmm, tasty.”
The waitress spped him across the back of the head. “Don’t mind this jackass, he’s harmless. Like a puppy.”
The boy growled.
“ honey, you hungry? You look beat.”
And dy thought, not yet; they haven’t beate. Smiling tiredly, she followed the waitress as she led her to a table.
Author's Notes
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