Gripping the steering wheel, I frown and lean closer, trying to get a better look at who’s in the car, and realize their head is turned, as if they are looking to the right. I follow their gaze across the road. The bus stop is empty, but the phone booth next to it is not. My frown deepens. Jesus, who the fuck uses a phone booth these days? The flickering bulb built into the roof of it illuminates a silhouette. A female with long blond hair and a willowy figure. Letting out a huff of air, I slump back into the seat and mutter under my breath. You’ve gotta be shitting me. It’s Alberto’s girl,
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