#122 Toasted Fiction
She exited the Rusty Anchor about as gracefully as one would expect anyone who’d spent the entire evening accepting free drinks from stranger men. Her stiletto heels made it impossible for her to take a steady step so she removed them.
Feeling the cold cobblestones beneath her stocking feet brought sobriety just in time to feel the hairs on the back of her neck get all prickly. This was not an uncommon occurrence. She gripped one heel in each hand. Bracing for anything.
The tenements were just a few blocks away. She heard footfalls quicken as she started to run.
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